


Under the Nothing Sky

by MalMuses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A Lot of Plot, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Canon-Typical Violence, Confident Dean Winchester, Dancing, Dean Winchester Uses Actual Words, Drinking, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Freedom Fighters, Gabriel is a good brother, Gay Sex, Homophobic Society, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, M/M, MINOR CHARACTER DEATHS (Not a Winchester or Castiel), Married Sam Winchester, Military Pilot Castiel (Supernatural), Mind Control, Multiple Sex Positions, Openly Bisexual Dean Winchester, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Plot, Rebel Castiel (Supernatural), Smart Dean Winchester, Soldier Castiel, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Unrequited Hannah, Virgin Castiel (Supernatural), Vonnegut references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-16 20:36:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 78,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19325629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalMuses/pseuds/MalMuses
Summary: Welcome to the Glass City.Its citizens live perfect, orderly lives. Controlled by the barcodes upon their arms, they are quietly assigned jobs, spouses, accommodations… whole lives. Some families rank above others, but that is just the way it is. The way the Council demands it to be.Lieutenant Colonel Castiel Novak is the shining star of the Glass City’s Academy, mere weeks away from graduating and being titled Commander of his own ship, his own crew.Castiel is very good at obeying.Until he meets a man with green eyes, a cocky smile, and no barcode.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, readers!
> 
> This fic feels like it has been a long time coming... I wrote it quite some time back, then sat on it for a while, then wrote some more, and then eventually settled on posting it for Dystopia bang. I put a lot of my heart into this one, it might actually (gasp!) be one of my favorite things I've written, to date. 
> 
> Even so, this fic would not be what it is now without the input and alpha/beta guidance I received from the excellent captainhaterade and EllenOfOz. They deserve the highest of praises, along with a bunch of friends, my fic village: Jess, SOBS, Lindsay, Cassie, Morgan, Kitty, Jen, Robin, and co. You all know who you are and I am so grateful for you all!
> 
> Big thanks to the organizers of Dystopia Bang, who are always patient and relaxed. 
> 
> The biggest chunk of text here, of course, has to go to my fantastic, talented, wonderful artist ANYREI! I was so, so excited to have my fic claimed by this wonderful, lovely human being. I already knew she would produce something amazing... but she blew me away, producing not two, but TEN pieces of truly spectacular art for this fic. She gave me emotions!! I hope the art does the same for you as your read along. [Please do check out her master post here!](https://anyreiart.tumblr.com/post/185810555731/my-art-for-malmuses-dystopia-story-under-the)
> 
> With that, I guess we should get started. This fic is very, very losely based on the book "We" by Yevgeny Zamyatin. However, I completely reworked my own plot for this so please don't read it with that in mind, thinking that's what you will get - I wouldn't want to disappoint! 
> 
> There are some military ranks etc used in this fic - this is a work of science fiction, so you won't find them to be the same as the ones we have here on Earth. 
> 
> I have done my best to tag everything I can think of, but if I missed anything - please let me know!
> 
> I have jabbered on enough. I'll be responding to comments, as always, so please do leave me a comment and say hello if you decide to read!
> 
> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> \- Mal <3

 

High up above the streets of the Glass City, on one of the many blocky towers that surrounded the infirmary, there was an ornate golden clock. Most of the city’s inhabitants never seemed to notice it, or pay any attention to it; it was, after all, permanently running twenty minutes ahead of time. But Castiel found his eyes drawn to the clock every time he walked the roads, morning or night. Something about it called to him, and always had. He couldn’t see the clock from his assigned apartment on 16th Street, but only a short walk away, on his journey to the Academy, the view cleared.

He gazed at it as he walked with Hannah, her hand loosely resting through the loop of his elbow. They weren’t talking. They never really did. Sometimes Hannah tried, of course; more and more, as their assigned wedding day drew nearer. But try as he might, Castiel just couldn’t find much in him to connect with her. She just wasn’t right. Or he just wasn’t right.

Hannah was gentle, and quiet, serious, much like Castiel himself. That was probably why the City had assigned them. But they were stoic in different ways. Hannah’s quiet came from her focus on her duty, her calm, even personality, her lack of humor. For Castiel, his seriousness came more from his mild annoyance at the world in general and his inability to truly speak his mind.

They could be friends, he hoped. They were friends. But their marriage, such as it would be, was no choice of their own.

Life in the Glass City was controlled, very carefully controlled. Castiel often thought he just wasn’t quite cut out for it. But he tried, so hard. It wasn’t like he had a choice, he often contemplated. It wasn’t like there was anywhere else to go, some other life out there… there was just the Glass City, the planet beyond it toxic and ruined.

So, he walked, silent, with his soon-to-be wife, watching the hands on the distant, golden clock rotate his life away. It was nearing lunchtime, and the hot sun beat down through the ceiling of the Glass City onto his white trench coat. He was warm, and he could have slipped it off to hang on his other arm, but he never did.

“When will you see Balthazar again, Castiel?” Hannah said, turning her hopeful blue eyes onto him, dangling the name of his friend like a carrot to conversation.

“I’ll see him again when he comes out of his final training camp, I suppose, before he heads out for his first expedition on the _Paraiso_ ,” Castiel answered her, doing his best to smile warmly.

“Not long now and that will be you,” Hannah said with a little smile.

“We don’t know that,” Castiel cautioned, though of course, in actual fact, they did.

Castiel was twenty-one, nearing twenty-two, and the youngest son of two of the Glass City’s most prominent leaders. They had passed from illness a handful of years before, but that still left him the younger brother of Gabriel Novak, the City’s most revered judge, and Anna Novak, Controller Commander. He was good blood—a good family name. He was smart. He’d have a ship before he was twenty-two. In fact, Potentate Zachariah had even told Castiel as much, that they were holding the _Nebesa_ for him to take command of as soon as he completed training.

Balthazar had waited until he was twenty-five to be granted a ship. Despite there being three years between them, he and Castiel had grown up together. But Balthazar’s connections, unfortunately, weren’t quite as refined. Castiel had always watched his friend have to work just that bit harder for everything that he was given easily.

Castiel and Hannah lapsed back into silence again, moving through the streets toward their building. He and Hannah had apartments next to each other, of course, ever since they’d been assigned. How else was Castiel supposed to court her?

“Can we take a detour through the market, Castiel?” Hannah asked suddenly.

Castiel blinked. It wasn’t super far out of their way, but he’d hoped to get home quickly to relax for the rest of the day, as he’d been up very early to help Balthazar with his last-minute preparations for the announcement ceremony that morning. And it took him out of the way of the clock.

“Of course, Hannah.”

Hannah fussed around a couple of stalls, chatting softly with the women there, something about flowers for the wedding and fabric swatches.

Castiel smiled politely, pulling back his sleeve to reveal his inner forearm, and the barcode tattoo he had there. He told the stall owners to scan it and charge whatever Hannah wanted, and then left her to it.

His sleeve slid back down on its own, slowly obscuring the code which identified him, made him a citizen, made him a person. The lines of the tattoo were thick and glossy, renewed every year. The barcode was everything; tracker, bank, record, register. Everyone had one.

Castiel’s attention drifted listlessly across the market. He felt unsettled, but then, he always did. Finally, after a few looks over the whole place with nothing of interest jumping out, his attention alighted upon a bee. A tiny, fuzzy bumblebee, drawn to a stall of fruit by some seeping, juicy summer peaches. Insects weren’t a common sight this close to the center of the city, as the precious creatures were usually concentrated in the outer circles where the food was produced.

The bee’s tiny, erratic-looking movements caught Castiel’s eye as it bobbed and buzzed gently around the fruit. Idly, knowing that Hannah would be a while, he followed the busy fellow across the square. It led him around behind the stalls, along a tall glass wall, to where a shorter, red brick wall began. So much of the city was made of glass that Castiel stopped a moment to appreciate the brick. Likely, it would one day be torn down and replaced with glass or open space. _For the betterment of all, all shall be seen_ , he mentally recited. Even his own voice in his head didn’t sound pleased with the phrase. Castiel didn’t really agree that complete transparency was the way to peace and order, but of course, he obeyed.

Everybody in the Glass City obeyed.

Castiel was jolted from his bee-and-brick reverie by a movement in the corner of his eye. A tall man—perhaps an inch or two taller than Castiel himself—with brown hair and captivatingly green eyes, walked along the length of the glass wall and then along the brick wall. When he came to a gap in the stones which led to an alleyway beyond, he stopped. A child emerged; brown haired and grinning, he looked up at the man like he was everything.

“Hey, Ben.” The man’s voice carried across to Castiel as he stood no more than ten feet away, the rest of the market ignoring them all. “Got a good lot for you today, buddy. Plenty of meat. It should keep you and your mom from spending your credits on food for this week, at least.”

The boy, rather than immediately answering, took a heavy-looking sack from the freckled, sandy-haired man, and then immediately threw his arms around his stomach. “You’re awesome, Dean,” the boy, Ben, said. “Righteous man, for sure.”

The man laughed, squatting and reaching up to ruffle the child’s hair. “You know I hate it when people call me that, kiddo.”

They exchanged a few more words, but Castiel missed every one.

His focus was entirely caught by the man’s arm as he raised it to muss up the kid’s hair. The movement caused his thin white shirt to push up, bunching the fabric closer to his elbow.

The man’s inner forearm, his right, was smooth and bare.

Nothing but a light tan graced the skin.

The man seemed to realize that his arm was on show, suddenly grabbing the thin sleeve and pulling it down quickly, to cover the suspicious, almost alien-looking blankness.

Castiel’s eyes darted to his arm. He pushed up the arm of his trench coat, looking down at the same familiar place on his own body, and what he found there was the same as ever: his City issued barcode. Just like everyone else.

 

 _Just like everyone who is assigned, at least,_ that same tiny voice from earlier niggled at the back of Castiel’s mind. That voice that didn’t always quite agree with the things he did just because he should. Because he had to. But this, he told the voice firmly, was ridiculous. If the man had no barcode, that meant he was unassigned. The Unassigned were a myth, something to dismissed like a fairy tale.

How could anyone be unassigned? How would they know what to do with their life?

Dragging his eyes up from his arm, he returned them to the mouth of the alleyway where the man had been gifting food to the boy.

They were both gone, as was the bee.

 

**~~***~~**

 

“The alstroemeria flower isn’t often used for weddings,” Hannah said, “but I do love lilies, and they symbolize fortune and prosperity.”

 _And friendship,_ Castiel thought. _Which is really all we have._

“It’s perfect, Hannah. Order as many as will delight you.”

Hannah ducked her head, smiling softly, and Castiel tried to find it in him to be happy for her, if not for himself. They had no choice but to marry, the City decided such things. But he knew that Hannah hoped he would choose to love her. She had said as much, when they were first introduced.

 _Choose to love her,_ he thought. As if it was that simple. _It should be. All you have to do is smile and obey._

They stood near the flower stall together, sharing polite conversation with the owner, a very tall woman who had introduced herself as Mae. Hannah picked everything, of course, and Castiel merely smiled, presenting his bar code for credits when they were done. Just like every couple Castiel had ever seen. It was only now, six weeks out from his own wedding, that he paused to wonder if any of those couples he’d ever seen were actually content at all.

He didn’t suppose it mattered.

“I noticed that the fruit stall had some particularly beautiful-looking peaches,” Castiel said. He turned to Hannah, extending his arm for her as they moved away from the flower seller. “Would you like some?”

“You, noticing fruit, Castiel?” Hannah teased gently.

Castiel raised a questioning eyebrow as they strolled across the busy, buzzing square. “Why not?”

“Usually you prefer meat and cheese and everything bad for you.”

“You aren’t wrong. But can’t I notice them for you?” Castiel said, because he knew it would please her.

She flushed cheerily, and they made their way to the stall Castiel had already seen, though the bee was long gone. He indicated to Hannah to get what she wanted, taking a few steps away as she became caught up in conversation with the owner. They had been to school together, it seemed, and the discussion of their lives since would likely take a minute.

So Castiel wandered, rolling his many thoughts from the market around in his mind, shuffling them like chess pieces, though he didn’t know how to win the game.

As he drifted back to the brick wall, almost as if it was a familiar spot rather than one he had come across only an armload of minutes before, noise brought his attention back to his surroundings.

Sharp noises. Yelling, kicking, flesh.

The market buzzed on, uncaring.

With a few hurried steps, Castiel looked around the end of the wall.

The same young man who’d broken Castiel’s world ten minutes ago now lay on the floor of the alleyway, a boot at his cheek. The boot was attached to the white linen uniform of a City Controller. The man, whose name was Dean, Castiel remembered, scowled like a weapon. His green eyes were vicious, like the freshly lit sparks of a black powder shotgun. His fierce expression was powerful, and angry, and even undirected at him, Castiel felt it. The blood that trickled freshly across Dean’s cheek did nothing to diffuse the violence of the image.

Castiel held his breath.

Dean squirmed, his arms coming up around the leg of his assailant, only to be smacked aside by a spiteful black baton. The Controller dropped more than one hit from it around Dean’s face and back, nothing accidental about it.

“Don’t let me catch you this close to the market again,” the Controller barked. “Trade without Credits is illegal in the Glass City, by order of the Potentate.”

 _Of course it is,_ Castiel thought hotly. _Everything is illegal in the Glass City._ He caught himself before he allowed the thought to go any further; that alone was blasphemous enough. His palms sweated. He wanted to help this man, whose crime was nothing more than passing something on to another without asking for anything in return. Certainly nothing that deserved the beating he had clearly received; swollen eyes, bloodied footprints on his plain white shirt and pants, red welts that would bruise on the exposed skin of his neck.

The Controller had choked him with the baton, Castiel realized. Choked him for daring to give.

But Castiel didn’t speak up, his voice stolen by a lifetime of the City’s rules.

For a moment, Dean’s vivid green eyes caught onto Castiel’s blue ones. They exchanged some kind of significant look as Dean lay beaten in the dirt, though Castiel wasn’t sure what it meant. The Controller stepped away, with one final boot to Dean’s stomach, and moved on down the alleyway between two squat, dark buildings. Walking deeper into this part of the City that no one spoke of, the part that wasn’t Glass, but would be one day.

Castiel broke his gaze away from Dean’s. The man didn’t look to him for help—there was no expectation, no hope in his eyes. He simply assumed that Castiel wouldn’t help him.

And Castiel burned with shame and horror that he was right.

“Castiel!” Behind him, at the fruit stall, Hannah was done. She moved toward him, smiling. “What are you watching? Are you ready to go home?”

 _What are you watching_. Like it was a sport.

“Yes, Hannah,” he said quickly, stepping forward and walking up to her, away from the alleyway that contained his shame. He didn’t want her to see, though he knew she’d have done the same. Everyone in the City would have done the same. “I was just waiting for you. Let’s head back to our apartments, it’s been a long morning.”

She nodded her agreement and passed him a paper bag of fruit which he cradled up in one arm, leaving his other elbow for her.

Their usual silence accompanied them home.

 

**~~***~~**

 

Feelings of helplessness and disgrace weren’t easily swallowed down with juicy peaches, it turned out. Castiel studied all afternoon, revising his notes from his tactics classes. The City’s ships were, of course, exploration and colonization ships. Meant to seek out a new home, a distant planet where one day, the residents of the Glass City could relocate, away from this ravaged, toxic world. But the training at the Academy, where the finest ship technicians, navigators, engineers, and Commanders were produced, focused quite heavily on battle tactics. They might be attacked in the air, Castiel assumed. He would always need to know how to protect his crew.

His stomach churned by the time he was done, and it wasn’t from the overripe fruit.

How could he protect a crew of many, when he couldn’t protect even one? What would he even be protecting them from? What would he have been protecting Dean from? Or who?

For a man that didn’t know his name or business, and who had only caught his eye for the briefest of seconds, Castiel spent many hours thinking about Dean that day. At the back of his mind, in the midst of every screen of his carefully typed notes, Dean’s bruised face lurked. The expression always the same; the total resignation when he saw Castiel watching. The assumption, totally accurate, that Castiel wasn’t going to help him.

The sun was setting when Castiel gave up. He tidied away his study materials methodically, before walking to the kitchen to locate a small bag. He filled it with the leftover fruit Hannah had given him earlier, as well as some treats lurking in his refrigeration box; chocolates gifted to him by Gabriel, and nougat Charlie had left behind a few days before. Then, doubling back to his bathroom cabinet, Castiel searched out pain pills, DNA bandages, healing syringes containing a mixture of anti-inflammation medicines, antibiotics and skin growth boosters. Simple things that every home with plenty of credits had in abundance.

He didn’t have a plan, per se. Just a need. A need to do something.

Pulling his boots back on, Castiel smoothed his shirt and pants, both made of heavy, high quality material. They were pure white, as everyone’s were. He pulled his white coat back over his shoulders and gripped the bag almost fearfully, as if the very fact he held it was incriminating.

He left his apartment, scanning his barcode to lock it behind him, and stood for a moment in the corridor beyond. This idea had seemed just fine in the confines of his home; private rooms, hidden behind solid walls. But the rest of the building, and every other he’d pass that wasn’t a residence, was made entirely of glass. Instantly, he felt exposed. That was, after all, the point.

The apartment next door, where Hannah resided with her assistant Hester, was quiet. Castiel took his eyes away from it immediately. He didn’t want to explain this to Hannah, or anyone else.

Forcing his feet to move, Castiel didn’t examine his own motivations any further than he absolutely had to as he walked through the clean streets in the setting sun. The less thinking he did, the easier this would be.

The market was deserted, the stalls barricaded for the night and the customers long gone. The residents of the city, the respectable ones at least, were all at home. People either worked, or studied, or spent restful time with family and friends, preferably in a productive manner. What else was there, after all? Well, for Castiel apparently, there was now ‘sneaking around after curfew with a bag for a stranger’, but usually, there was certainly nothing.

Castiel had extremely good standing in the City. He was a Novak, after all. If he was caught, he’d just be sent on his way, no doubt. But there might be questions, ones he wanted to avoid. So he kept to the edges of the market, close to the walls, as unhelpfully _glass_ as they were. His attention zoned in on the red brick wall ahead, and the gap in it that turned down to the alleyway. The sun dipped, and barely any light came through the ceiling as Castiel moved into the space between the two squat buildings.

He knew of this area of the town, of course. Everyone did. He’d just never been here before. It was the city’s most underdeveloped area, still waiting to be upgraded to glass. People that came here were rarely up to good, or so the citizens were led to believe. Castiel had never tested the theory, though he supposed he was proving it right at that moment, technically.

The alleyway smelled of damp and trash, and was entirely empty. He didn’t know what else he’d expected, really. He figured he would just wait a while, see if anyone else was out here after curfew, and ask after the sandy-haired man who’d been so heavily beaten where he stood. Looking down, he realized that Dean’s blood still stained the concrete floor. Castiel gazed at it, horrified, before stepping back against the red wall.

He’d been standing there perhaps half an hour, the air growing cooler around him, when a window opened on the opposite side of the alleyway, two floors above him.

“Been waiting there long enough, mister?”

The head that emerged was that of the young brown-haired boy Castiel had first seen Dean talking to earlier in the day, when he was giving him the bag of supplies.

Castiel raised his own bag as he looked up, calling out as loud as he dared. “I have some… some things to help the man who helped you, earlier.”

The boy’s eyes were bright and smart as he took in Castiel from above. “Saw you watching us. Thought maybe it was you that called the Controller.”

“No. Not me.”

“Guess not.” The kid leaned on the windowsill, pointing down at the bag in Castiel’s hands. “Looks like you’re about to make the same mistake.”

“I don’t think it’s a mistake.” Castiel wasn’t lying technically, of course. He knew it was against the rules of the city, to pass something on to someone outside of family without credits changing hands. It was how the City kept control, tracked things, made sure that people who didn’t deserve, didn’t get. But even though he followed the rules usually, he disagreed. A mistake in the eyes of the City, but not in his.

“Well, he’s probably not in any state to be walking the streets tonight, you know,” the boy called down again.

“I just hoped someone might—” Castiel cut himself off, sharply. He didn’t know what he’d been hoping, really. This whole thing was crazy, and out of character for him at best.

There was a long pause up above.

Castiel began to peel his shoulders from the wall, having thoroughly convinced himself that this was the most hare-brained, ill-thinking idea he’d ever had, and he should just go back to—

“I can send a message. Wait there.”

The window slammed shut.

According to the dimly glowing digits on Castiel’s watch, a whole hour passed before a voice drew his attention from the end of the alleyway.

“Waiting for me?”

It wasn’t the man from earlier. This man looked a little younger; barely more than a teenager, in fact. But he was tall; much taller than Castiel, and with longer brown hair and suspicious, hazel eyes. He wore the same loose, basic white tunic and pants that the man earlier had worn.

“Perhaps?” Castiel offered cautiously. “Though I don’t know who you are.”

The tall guy didn’t answer straight away, but he approached, moving toward the mouth of the alley where Castiel stood. When they were only a few feet apart, the stranger pointed to the bag Castiel held.

“Is that for my brother?”

Understanding flooded over Castiel. “You’re Dean’s family.”

“First name basis is it?” The tall brother raised his eyebrow.

“No, no,” Castiel found himself flushing oddly. “Not at all. He probably doesn’t even remember me, and certainly doesn’t know me. But the boy said his name earlier.” Castiel gestured up to the now-closed window he’d conversed with earlier, just to clarify.

The tall man nodded slowly and reached out a hand. Castiel thought he was moving for the bag, but realized at the last moment that he was extending his palm in greeting. He shook it, nodding respectfully.

“I’m Sam. Can I at least tell Dean your name, if you know his?”

“Castiel.”

“Fancy.”

“Yes, I suppose. My family is… fancy.”

“I can tell.”

“Look, I—” Castiel’s voice stumbled, but he needed to continue. “I didn’t know what to do, earlier. I should have helped.”

“But you didn’t.” Sam shrugged, flippant. “No one ever has.”

“I’m trying.” Castiel offered, quietly, extending the bag.

Sam nodded thoughtfully, taking the simple fabric sack from him and peering inside. His eyebrows moved up slightly in the dark, but he managed not to sound surprised by the time he answered. “These will be a huge help. We could never afford these, even if we had access to them.”

“Access?” Castiel asked without thinking, before catching himself. “Oh… right. You’re…”

Sam saved him with a calm voice and challenging look. “Unassigned.”

Castiel’s mouth was dry as he simply nodded.

“You should go,” Sam suggested.

Castiel didn’t respond, and by the time he’d taken a few steps back toward the market, Dean’s brother had melted back into the shadows and disappeared.

 


	2. Chapter 2

It was a week before Castiel found himself at the market again. He was having a better time than the last, walking in step with his older brother. Gabriel was always excellent company. He was blasphemous on occasion, a terrible trait for a City judge, but he had a tendency to be loved by everyone he met, his easy smiles and jovial nature endearing him quickly to any stranger.

“You should let me plan your wedding party, you know, Castiel.”

“I don’t think Hannah would like that very much,” Castiel said, smirking as they made their way over to the far side of the market, where Gabriel’s favorite stall of sweet cakes stood.

Gabriel muttered something rude under his breath.

“Hannah is a good woman,” Castiel chastised gently, though he could feel the corner of his lip curling in spite of himself.

“No man wants a _good_ woman, Cassie,” Gabriel said. “You’re stuck with her for life. You could at least have petitioned for someone with some spunk.”

“Like Kali, you mean?”

Gabriel grinned, looking proud. “Yup, exactly like her.”

Castiel could admit to himself, deep inside, that he had hoped for a marriage like Gabriel’s. Kali was a strong, feisty woman, who took Gabriel’s shenanigans and loud opinions in stride, and gave as good as she got. They complimented each other, as well as occasionally drove each other crazy. But even when they fought, there was an undeniable love there.

Castiel had never felt that.

“What’s up?” Gabriel’s elbow knocked Castiel in the side as they walked. “To be blunt, ol’ bean, you don’t seem overly enthused about the wedding. Or Hannah.”

“Hannah is a good woman,” Castiel repeated.

“Oh, raspberries, Cassie. Stop it with that! Granny Novak was a good woman. Hannah is dull as dishwater.”

“Gabriel!”

“I bet she darns socks, and doesn’t let you put extra gravy on your meat, and only has sex in missionary.”

“GABRIEL!”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Gabriel challenged.

Castiel sighed. “I don’t know why you’re asking. It’s not like we can do anything about it.”

Gabriel eyed Castiel thoughtfully, opening his mouth, before silently shutting it again. They moved up to the cake stall, and Gabriel finally looked away, distracted by honey and chocolate and fondant.

Castiel was stuck with his own thoughts. Nothing that Gabriel had said was untrue. Well, apart from the missionary part, as he’d never had sex with Hannah, so he wouldn’t know. He’d only kissed her a handful of times, and that had been distinctly underwhelming. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her, he thought. She was sweet. But he had a feeling that sweet just wasn’t what he wanted.

He was ripped from his thoughts by Gabriel shoving a long, dripping crème bun into his mouth.

“Suck that down, Cassie-boy. It’ll probably be the most action you get for a while.”

Castiel choked, glaring. He gulped down the mouthful of phallic shaped cake quickly, so that he could speak. “Gabriel! You can’t say things like that!”

He looked around, searching the corner of the market for Controllers and gossips. For a City Judge Gabriel was remarkably un-judgmental, but the law was the law, and such lewd or suggestive comments of any kind could get him fined; homosexual ones could land him in jail, or worse.

Gabriel rolled his eyes but quietened down as requested. They moved to sit on a low bench that ringed the outside of the square. It definitely wasn’t the best spot, far too close to the red-brick alleyway for Castiel’s comfort, but it was a busy day, and he wasn’t about to explain to Gabriel why he’d like to move. Castiel licked crème from his fingers, and when he looked back up, he saw Gabriel looking at him solemnly. When he spoke after a moment’s consideration, his tone was uncharacteristically brotherly.

“Cassie, you know I just want you to be happy, right?”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. He certainly didn’t know that; Gabriel was more deflective and defensive than he was affectionate or familial. “As you say it, I’ll take it.”

“I just… think about it, okay? Hannah, I mean. I know there’s no other option, officially. But… we both know there are ways, Castiel. Right?”

Gabriel’s golden-brown eyes searched his for a moment, but neither of them spoke again.

Their parents, Charles and Rebecca, were assigned like every other couple. The fact that there was no love lost between them was an open secret within the family; Rebecca Novak often took other male friends to events, and Charles was known to disappear for long periods with an old family friend. They never mentioned it, and yet the three Novak children had grown up content and cared for. It was the same for many families.

That’s just what happened, Castiel now realized, when the City got to choose your life for you.

“Hey, blue-eyes. Castiel, was it?”

A deep voice startled Castiel, and he snapped his attention to his right, to the bench next to theirs.

“Dean.” Castiel blinked. Where had he appeared from? Had he been waiting here for him? Castiel hadn’t expected to ever see the man again, let alone out here in the open. At least, Castiel noted, he looked healed. The medicine had done its job.

“So, you do remember me.” Dean smiled in a way that suggested he didn’t think Castiel could possibly have forgotten.

“Of course.” Castiel nodded politely, shifting slightly in his seat to angle himself toward Dean.

Gabriel, next to him, quirked an eye in interest but kept to his cake. His eyebrows, however, pulled together in a blonde knot that betrayed some concern he didn’t voice.

“I came over here thinking that there was no way I could ever really thank you for—” Dean’s eyes slid carefully over to Gabriel, with a distrustful squint, before moving back to Castiel. “—for what you did.”

“You don’t have to,” Castiel said carefully. “I didn’t do it for thanks.”

“Oh, but now I’m over here seeing your handsome face up close, I can think of _many_ ways I could thank you,” Dean intoned, an overtly flirtatious grin splitting his freckled face.

For the second time that day, Castiel choked on cake.

Gabriel cleared his throat, leaning forward slightly to look past Castiel as he used what his friends thought of as his “Judge voice”. “Do you know who I am, kid?”

Dean eyed Gabriel steadily. “I sure do. But I also know that this isn’t the first time I’ve seen you in this part of town.”

Their eye contact was much more confrontational than Castiel could find any reason for, but after a moment, Gabriel nodded. He dropped his eyes and returned to his sticky bun.

Castiel frowned in confusion. “You’ve met?”

“Oh no.” Dean grinned. “A good, law-abiding Judge like Novak here wouldn’t have anything to do with people like me, huh?”

Gabriel’s gaze darkened, and he moved to stand. “We should get going, Castiel.” He reached down, practically yanking Castiel out of his seat, to his utter confusion.

“Hey now,” Dean drawled, turning his eyes back to Castiel. “You wouldn’t deprive me of a sight like this, would you? It’s not often you get a face like that on a body like _that._ ”

Castiel felt his eyes widening comically, but he couldn’t stop them. “You—You can’t SAY—Are you insane?!”

Dean’s vivid green eyes—and they were exceptionally vivid from this much closer, it turned out—latched onto Castiel, surprisingly solemnly. “A sane person, to an insane society, must appear insane.”

Something about the way he said it made Castiel think it was a quote from something, but he couldn’t place it, despite all his studies at the Academy. Before he had much chance to think it over, Gabriel was pushing at his shoulder, guiding them forcefully away.

“Don’t be a stranger, Cas!” Dean called to them as they wove away between the busy morning market crowd. “We should talk, you and me. I think you know it… I don’t think they’ve got you yet. And hey!”

Castiel looked back over his shoulder, in spite of himself.

“Offer’s still on the table, gorgeous.”

 

**~~***~~**

 

 _I don’t think they’ve got you yet._  What did that mean? Dean’s words plagued Castiel for days, distracting him even during the wedding planning. Though that wasn’t difficult, as it bored him so much. It seemed endless; there were cakes, and clothes, and guests, and sermons. He tried so hard to care. To do his duty, to fall into line and be a good Novak, and good City man.

But he just wasn’t.

It was six days after the incident in the square—after which Gabriel had hastened home and hadn’t been in touch since—that Castiel slipped up.

“Do you like the blue or the burgundy, dearest?” Hannah was saying, waving neat little pocket squares under his nose.

“For what?” Castiel blinked, dragged out of his mind once again. People often insisted on doing that.

Hannah frowned. “Were you paying attention at all?”

They were sat in Castiel’s apartment, with samples and swatches and colors galore spread out on the heavy wooden dining table in front of them. Hannah had been talking non-stop for the best part of an hour, and Castiel had done his best to answer, here and there. But he was frustrated, and his stomach felt like lead.

Dean wasn’t the only thing from that day that had been playing on his mind. Gabriel’s careful words that brought to mind their own parents’ relationship had made an impact too, one no less troublesome.

“Castiel? What is your problem?” Hannah prompted him again, throwing the pocket squares down onto the table in a rare fit of temper. “Why can’t you give me a straight answer to any of this?!”

“Because I just don’t _care_ about any of it,” Castiel snapped angrily back.

For a moment she stared at him, bewildered. “You—you don’t care?” Her voice was small.

Castiel felt like an asshole, but at the same time, it was like a weight off his shoulders. “Hannah, I—”

“You don’t care about the wedding?” She interrupted, asking carefully.

“No, I—” Castiel’s voice shook.  “Hannah, you are smart, and intuitive. I can’t go on just… going on, with this. I can’t do it.”

She didn’t answer for a good minute. Castiel couldn’t even look at her, but he heard some shuffling of fabric, and realized she was wiping her eyes with the burgundy pocket square she’d cast down to the table.

“You don’t care about me,” she stated softly, after a minute. It wasn’t accusatory, as such. But her words wavered painfully at the end, betraying her.

“I do, Hannah.” Castiel looked up, smiling sorrowfully, reaching for her hands as they twisted on her lap. “Just not in the way you want me to.”

“That’s okay,” she smiled wanly back at him. “It hurts, but it’s okay. Sometimes these things take time.”

“Hannah, no.”

“I don’t think my parents loved each other at first, but once they’d been married a while, they—” She began to babble.

Castiel squeezed tightly at her hands, pleading silently for her to stop. “I don’t think so, Hannah.”

Her lip trembled as she gazed back at him. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t know,” Cas said, dropping her clenched fists and leaning forward onto the table. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, angry with himself, as well as the City that put him in this position. “I just can’t lie to you, Hannah. It’s wrong. You’re a good person, you don’t deserve that.”

“But I deserve this?” she responded, disbelieving. “I deserve to have to go through with a wedding where my husband tells me he’ll never love me?”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“But it is, Castiel. Isn’t it?”

He took a deep breath. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Yes. You’re right. I don’t love you, Hannah, and I can’t see myself ever loving you. I care for you a lot, I think we’d be wonderful friends. But I just don’t feel anything else for you. And I’m sorry, Hannah. I really am. I’m sure you hate me, right now, but—”

“No,” she interrupted, firmly. She was reaching across the table now, gathering up armloads of samples and wedding paraphernalia, grabbing them into her chest almost frantically.

“No?” Castiel said, watching her with growing confusion and panic.

“No,” she repeated, still firm. “You’ll come around, you just need time.”

Castiel’s stomach felt like lead again. “That’s not—”

She turned her back, her ankle-length white dress spinning as she stepped angrily toward the front door. “I’m going to go home, and tomorrow we’ll try again. We can pretend this never happened and try again.”

The door slammed behind her, and Castiel was finally left to think in peace. Suddenly, it seemed too quiet. He ran his hands back through his hair, exhaling a long breath through his teeth.

“Fuck,” he said out loud, to no one in particular.

That hadn’t been how he’d wanted that to go. In fact, he hadn’t known how he hoped it to go at all, but not like that. Perhaps, he’d reasoned, if he was truthful with Hannah they could have done as his parents had; been honest with each other, and lived their lives separately, as friends if nothing else. Divorce was simply not an option in the Glass City. Although repopulation itself wasn’t in effect any more, and children were not mandated, many of the laws that had been passed when the world first began to die still existed.

Men and women would be assigned to be married.

Partners would be chosen based on genetic variety and status.

All other couplings were forbidden.

The City gave no exceptions.

The heaviness that came over Castiel was suffocating. He’d lived his whole life trying to be good. Trying to be the perfect son, the perfect Novak, the perfect citizen. But somehow, something, in the last couple of weeks… something had changed. Something had kick-started an avalanche of doubt, and he was falling.

 _I don’t think they’ve got you yet._  

 

**~~***~~**

 

Castiel walked swiftly to Balthazar Roche’s apartment. He’d called, once he’d calmed after Hannah had left, to see if his oldest friend would have a few minutes for him while he packed for his ship. Balth had only finished the final piece of his training that morning, he’d said on the phone, and they were sending him straight out to command the _Paraiso_ the next morning.

They wouldn’t have long before curfew, but Castiel at least wanted to sit down and talk with the one person he’d always been able to speak to honestly. Balthazar kept his head down, tried hard, as Castiel always had; but Castiel had known since he was young that Balthazar had no love for the city’s rules, and broke them frequently. He’d only been married a couple of weeks when his wife, a petite, gregarious woman named Charlie, had found him in a ménage a… what was the French for twelve? Luckily, she’d turned out to have tastes that wandered in a direction very, very far from Balthazar. She was incredibly smart, the golden star of the City navigation school, and they were now, thank goodness, the best of friends.

It was Charlie that opened the door to their small home when Castiel arrived. Once he and Hannah married, Castiel registered dully, they would be assigned a home just like this. Only bigger, probably. _Like that’s fair,_ he thought hotly, before pulling his thoughts back in automatically, as if someone could hear them. Considering the Roche family, and his parents, he did briefly wonder though how many marriages were actually happy beneath the façade. He could really only think of Gabriel and Kali.

Charlie looked pale and troubled, but Castiel supposed that was normal. Balthazar was heading off for his first assignment after all, in command of a ship of two hundred people, and would not return for likely half a year.

Castiel embraced her with a warm smile. It felt like she clung on a little tighter than usual. He allowed it, searching her face silently when she pulled back from him. She frowned and parted her lips as if to say something, but was cut off by the voice booming from the parlor.

“Charlie! Is that Castiel? We don’t have all day.”

Grinning, Castiel turned and strode into the parlor to greet his childhood friend. “Balthazar!” He extended his arms for a hug, crushing the other man to his chest. Balthazar was stiff, his arms pinned to his side. “This is the part where you hug back.”

Balthazar didn’t.

Awkwardly, Castiel slowly dropped his arms. “Balth? What’s wrong?”

The shorter, slimmer blond man looked back at Castiel calmly, his expression flat and serious. “Nothing at all. You called and asked to come over, did you want something?”

“I—” Castiel was suddenly uncertain. Everything about Balthazar seemed off, but yet nothing looked different. He plastered a smile onto his face and went for the safe option, his tone warm and congratulatory. “How was your final training, Commander Roche?”

And thus began Balthazar’s thirty minutes of praise for the City and everything it stood for. Castiel felt like he was tumbling slowly down a dark well. He waited for a refreshing splash of water at the bottom; a punchline, a joke. But it never came.

“So, you’re pleased, then?” Castiel asked carefully, hiding from his voice the fearful fluttering he could feel in his chest. “You’re happy to go out and espouse every rule the City has made? Uphold their every law?”

“Without question, of course,” Balthazar smiled, but it was hollow. “As you will be too, Castiel, once you complete General Naomi’s final training. It’s really quite something.”

Castiel swallowed harshly, and his gaze swung to Charlie. She sat quietly on the opposite sofa, her back stiff as she perched primly on the white leather. Her hands were folded in her lap, wringing together tightly. They exchanged a look, no words required, their thoughts clearly identical.

This wasn’t Balthazar. Or at least, not the Balthazar they knew.

Everything that Castiel had come to confess to his friend flew away from his lips and locked down tight. Somehow, he felt, anything he would confess to Balthazar now would end up in the ears of his superiors. And those who disobeyed the City, those who even questioned it aloud, were punished severely.

Pushing himself up from the couch where he sat, angled toward Balthazar as he’d been speaking, Castiel plastered a fake, wide smile on his face. “Well, I am very happy for you, old friend. Of course. I simply came to wish you all the best for your first mission.”

Balthazar reached out and shook his hand. Castiel couldn’t remember ever shaking his hand before.

“Thank you, Castiel. By the time I return, I expect you will be off on your own mission, at the helm of the _Nebesa_.”

“I hope so,” Castiel replied robotically, though he suddenly found that despite his years of training for it, there was nothing he wanted less.

“I should also offer you best wishes for your wedding, of course. I hope that you will see what is right, Castiel, and respect your union with Hannah, as you should.”

Castiel blinked. Coming from Balthazar, that was a downright insult. But before he could speak up, his friend was continuing.

“Obviously I will not be able to attend, but you must excuse Charlie as well. I’m making enquiries with the Council to get her seen at the infirmary, you see.” Balthazar leaned forward, whispering as if sharing a terrible secret. “I hear they have made great advances in curing her kind of deviancy.”

Suddenly, Charlie’s nervous, pale demeanor made perfect sense. She was to be betrayed, by her own husband, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Castiel sought her eyes, panicked and wide, the dark green of them brightened with fearful tears. The worst part of her expression was that—just like Dean in the alleyway the week before—there was absolutely no request for help in her gaze. She didn’t expect it, knew that it just couldn’t happen. He wanted to go to her, comfort her somehow; but what comfort was there? The law was absolute. There were to be no pairings of the type that Charlie preferred; any coupling that was not for the purpose of bearing children was frowned upon, but those which made it a biological impossibility were banned entirely. Castiel had no way to protect her. All attempting to do so would achieve would be to get them both thrown into the cavernous jail below the Council buildings, the prison no one spoke of, where any who questioned the City went and never returned.

Stiff, polite goodbyes exchanged, Castiel made it as far as the front door before he started shaking.

 _I don’t think they’ve got you yet,_ Dean had said.

He was right; they hadn’t. But as soon as he went for his final training, as Balthazar had just done, Castiel knew that they would.

On the doorstep of Balthazar’s modest, perfectly uniform house, Castiel stood and tried to breathe. He didn’t know what was happening, he didn’t know why his eyes were suddenly so wide open when before he’d at least been able to squint and ignore the glare of truth.

Curfew was almost upon him. The bells, high up in the glass towers of the Council chambers at the center of the City, rang out to hustle loiterers on their way home. Castiel lifted his gaze, following the noise up into the glass skyline of the gigantic city. His eyes alighted on the golden clock, on the side of the blocky tower where the infirmary could be found. The same infirmary where, Castiel knew, they would take Charlie under the pretense of a cure. They had special medics and guards—the watchers, known as Grigori—who attended to people like Charlie. Who would treat her with barbaric procedures before imprisoning her if she refused to change the very essence of who she was.

He hoped that she would lie. That she would tell them what they wanted to hear. But deep down inside, he understood the redhead well enough to know that she wouldn’t. She’d be imprisoned on her principles, of that, he was certain.

The golden clock glinted, rotating onward like nothing had changed. Only everything had.

Castiel’s feet were moving, and initially he thought that he was headed home. He really did. How he ended up in the market square, moving on silent feet toward the alleyway to the worst part of the city, he didn’t know.

How long he stood there, he didn’t know.

The pair of green eyes that squinted at him, full of concern, and pulled him into one of the red-brick buildings, those he knew.

 

**~~***~~**

 

“This is dangerous, Dean,” Sam hissed, his hand flailing vaguely in Castiel’s direction. “He could turn us all in at any moment.”

“I couldn’t just leave him there, Sammy, look at him!”

“What the hell happened? He looks like his puppy died.”

“I dunno,” Dean shrugged. “Not my place to ask. Not his obligation to tell. Go get us a bottle of moonshine from Ellen’s, maybe. That might help.”

“You think moonshine cures everything,” scoffed a stocky, muscled man that Castiel didn’t know.

“Ain’t been wrong yet, Benny.” Dean grinned.

Castiel cleared his throat, and all three turned to look at him.

They sat inside a small rock-hewn living room—in Dean and Sam’s home, Castiel assumed—not far from the alleyway where he’d stood, long into the cold of the night, just waiting. He hadn’t realized he was waiting for Dean until the man had shown up.

The walls were bare, and they sat on upturned crates rather than chairs or a sofa. Benny whittled something wooden that might have been a toy sword, sized for a small child. Sam squinted at a thick tome, when he wasn’t talking to Dean; not an electronic paper, like Castiel was used to, but an honest-to-goodness book, like the old world had been filled with. He put it aside now, as they all turned to look at Castiel.

“Well?” Dean asked him, folding his arms across his chest and winking lasciviously. “You gonna prove my brother right, lover? Gonna turn us all in, get yourself a fat reward for helping the City maintain that Unassigned don’t exist?”

Castiel shook his head, dumbly. “N-no. Of course not.” His eyes travelled back and forth across the three. “You’re… you’re all Unassigned.”

They nodded, in unison, something almost gentle about it, as if they thought they were destroying Castiel’s very perception of the world. They didn’t know, of course, that it was hardly the first time this week that had happened.

“You’re a myth.” Castiel realized how stupid it sounded as he said it, but he didn’t seem to have much control over his mouth or his thoughts any more.

Dean laughed, a rich, warm sound that set off the other two. “You’re the unicorn around here, I’m afraid, Cas. Aren’t you supposed to be totally brainwashed, telling us how the Glass City’s rules are for the benefit of all? Not standing in dark alleyways, looking like your world came down around your ears?”

“It did.”

Benny arched an eyebrow. “Oh? And how’s that, fancy-pants? You lose a few credits, or find out that they’re glassin’ your building?”

“I-I already live in a glass building,” Castiel responded dully.

“Of course you do,” Sam scoffed. He looked at Castiel with a challenge in his flat eyes, and for the first time, Castiel truly registered that unlike his brother, Sam did not want him here.

“I have no intention of betraying you, Sam,” Castiel said quietly, meeting his gaze. “I just came back from seeing my oldest friend. Someone I’ve cared for since my childhood. He just finished training with General Naomi.”

In the dim light, provided by a flickering fireplace rather than the electricity Castiel was used to, Sam’s face suddenly softened, understanding blooming in his hazel eyes.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” was his blunt response. “Perhaps I should go get that moonshine after all,” he added, standing up from his wooden apple crate perch.

He leaned close to Dean, whispering something in his brother’s ear, before moving out of the room into the dark corridor beyond. Dean watched him go, thoughtful, before standing himself. Instead of leaving, he picked up the wooden tobacco box he sat on, and shuffled it up next to Castiel, so that they sat together, looking at the fire.

Dean leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, but turned his head so he looked back at Castiel.

“I probably owe you an explanation, Cas.”

Castiel nodded. “I feel like you do, but at the same time, I’m not sure why.”

Dean took a deep breath. “When I met you in the square, with your brother, I already knew quite a bit about you. I did as soon as you told my brother your name,” he confessed. “We looked you up, of course. In the registry.”

“You couldn’t just ask me?”

“Too dangerous.”

That, Castiel had to allow as true, so he nodded again.

“So, I know that you’re commissioned to the City forces. Going to be a Commander I gather, though I don’t know what you are now.”

“Lieutenant Colonel, technically, by training at the Academy. Though I don’t have a ship quite yet. Field division, obviously.”

Dean pursed his lips as he nodded slowly. “And a Novak, at that. It’s hard to find better blood than a Novak.”

Again, Castiel couldn’t deny it.

“So why did you help me?” Dean challenged, his intense green stare now meeting Castiel’s eyes directly. “You knew what I was, I could tell from how you were looking at me. So why come back, try and help? You could have just reported me, but you didn’t.”

“Because it’s wrong.” The words flew out of Castiel’s mouth before he could stop them.

Dean’s smile was slow. “I thought so. Hence my little display in the market square the other day, which I apologize for, by the way. I just wanted to see how you’d react… and you were flustered, sure, but I saw no offense in you. No hatred.”

“In front of Gabriel, though?” Castiel asked, leaning forward on his own knees toward the fire, mimicking Dean’s position. He found that he could barely take his eyes from Dean. The fascinating, handsome man didn’t seem to balk at his stares, but even so, he’d have to be careful.

The laugh that tumbled out of Dean was unexpected. “Seems like you might have a few things to learn about your own brother, Cas,” Dean said. “Or maybe he needs to learn some things about you, one or the other.”

Castiel was confused, but the request for clarification that hovered on his tongue was spoken over by Benny, who had been quietly whittling his way through his wood, listening to them.

“Sam’ll come around. Dean seems to have taken a liking to you, and I’m pretty breezy as long as your intentions are right, little brother,” Benny stopped to wink at Castiel, and for the first time Castiel got enough of a look to register that Benny was substantially older than he; perhaps thirty-five or so. “But there are plenty of people that won’t trust him, Dean.” The last part, of course, he directed to the seat next to Castiel where Dean still sat.

Dean nodded slowly. “I know. But I’ve got a good feeling about him.”

Benny smirked. “You looked in his eyes and knew, huh?”

Dean’s grin—all pointy incisors and flirtation, just like it had been in the square the week before—was back. “Of course, Benny! Have you seen his eyes?”

Dean reached over and clapped Castiel suddenly on the back, his other hand coming straight to Castiel’s chin. He angled Castiel’s face toward Benny, with a wink.

“Just look at those beautiful blues, brother! I couldn’t help myself.”

Benny threw his head back in laughter, and after a moment of embarrassed smiling, Castiel couldn’t help himself but join in. It felt good. He suddenly wondered how long it had been since he laughed.

Sam reappeared in the doorway, looking around at them laughing with a crinkled, confused brow. He held a jar of cloudy liquid, and brought with him a slim, brown-haired woman who wore a welcoming smile.

“I brought the moonshine. Castiel, this is my wife, Eileen. She’s deaf, so make sure you look straight at her when you talk.”

Castiel blinked. He’d never even heard of a deaf person in the Glass City, nevermind met one. His surprise must have shown on his face, because Eileen kicked her crate across to the semi-circle in front of the fire, then turned to him with a kind smile.

“Never seen a deaf person before?” She intoned, her voice gentle. “It’s okay. That’s why I’m Unassigned, you see. Not perfect enough for the Glass City.” Somehow, she managed not to sound bitter at all, and Castiel found he admired her for it.

“Well, I’m glad to meet you, Eileen.” Castiel inclined his head politely. “You’re Sam’s wife? Honestly, I didn’t think Sam looked old enough to be married,” he said, before wincing at himself.

“Well you certainly speak your mind,” Sam said, grinning. “You’re right though, I suppose. We don’t really follow the rules of the City around here. I just turned twenty, Eileen is twenty-four. When the City doesn’t plan out your life for you, you can get married whenever you want,” he pointed out.

“Right,” Castiel nodded, his embarrassment at his bluntness fading when no one seemed to care.

“Benny here,” Sam said, continuing the introductions while he opened up the moonshine, “is an old man of thirty-four, and Dean is my older brother, quite ancient also, at twenty-four.”

“Hey!” Benny and Dean grumbled in unison.

Castiel chuckled, accepting the open jar of strong alcohol from Sam as he offered it. “I think you all know much more about me than I do of you, but in the interest of politeness, I’m Castiel, I'm twenty-one, and I’ve never drunk alcohol before in my life.” He gave the moonshine a suspicious sniff. “The City doesn’t allow it, as I’m sure you know, and honestly smelling this, I see their point.”

Dean gave him a devilish grin, reaching to wrap his hand around the thick glass jar. “Well then, let me help you pop that cherry,” he winked, pushing gently to guide the jar to Castiel’s mouth. “Plus any others that you feel like poppin’, just for the record.”

Castiel’s cheeks burned ferociously, but it was still no heat at all compared to what was happening in his throat. He spluttered, the moonshine making him gasp and choke. “What the hell is in that stuff!” he rasped, flapping at his mouth, eyes wide.

Benny, Sam, and Eileen all had their heads thrown back in laughter, but Dean’s hand remained where it had slapped his back, rubbing almost apologetically between his shoulder blades.

“It takes a bit of getting used to, for sure,” Dean offered kindly. “We can get you some water, or apple juice—”

“No, I’m fine,” Cas said stubbornly, tightening his fingers on the glass and taking another sip. He glared across at Dean, somehow annoyed that this man seemed to permanently have him on his back foot.

Dean retreated, both hands in the air as if in apologetic retreat. “Fine, fine, as you wish, city boy. You show all us seasoned Unassigned how it’s done, then.” He grinned, and for a moment they just smiled at each other in amusement, their eyes locked.

“You two need to stop with that staring,” Sam said. “It’s verging on obscene.”

“That’s not staring, Sam,” Benny drawled. “They call that eye-fuckin’, where I’m from.”

Castiel choked on the moonshine again, though not due to the alcohol content this time. Dean howled with laughter, reaching to take the jar from him. He took a deep gulp from the rim himself, before passing it to Benny.

“Is that… why you’re Unassigned?” Castiel asked carefully, his eyes curiously on Dean. “Are you—”

“Gay?” Sam interrupted before Dean could speak up. “Nah, he’s not gay. Just greedy.”

“Rude!” Dean exclaimed, slapping at his brothers arm as Sam settled on a crate next to him. “The term is bisexual,” he continued as he turned back to Castiel. “Clearly my brother is Unassigned because he’s an asshole.”

The way that the two brothers bickered and slapped childishly at each other made Castiel smile. It reminded him briefly of how he and Gabriel had once been, many years before.

Once Sam and Dean had finished their ridiculous slapping fight, which culminated in the two of them tussling from the seats and Dean grasping his younger brother in a headlock, ruffling his long hair, the two of them sat back down, flushed and smiling from the silly exertion. Dean turned back to Castiel then, a little more serious.

“Sam and I are Unassigned because we were born outside the City’s control. Our parents didn’t register us, because they were Unassigned too. Eileen,” he pointed, “as we already covered, is Unassigned because she wasn’t born ‘perfect enough’ for the City’s tastes.” Dean’s voice dripped with derision.

Castiel nodded, before looking over to the bulky brunette man who sat furthest from him. “What about you, Benny?”

He received a long, considering look in response, before Benny eventually nodded, pulling up his sleeve to show a bar-code tattoo. The ink had a series of haphazard scars breaking it jaggedly. Castiel frowned in confusion, but he didn’t need to ask for clarification, Dean’s deep voice next to him filling in the blanks.

“Benny chose to be here. He was assigned, like you. A chef, worked in the Council chambers, actually. Sometimes,” Dean intoned carefully, looking at Castiel from the corner of his eye, “people stumble across the truth, and if they are right-minded, there’s really no going back for them.”

“Right,” Castiel said weakly. “The truth. That Unassigned are real.”

“Well,” Dean offered, a gentle smile on his plump, peachy lips. “That’s not all of it. But it’s the beginning.”

  



	3. Chapter 3

Weeks passed.

Castiel saw Hannah less and less, much to her frustration, he was sure. They appeared together publicly, and he made his best effort to offer her genuine friendship. But still, she seemed reluctant to admit that anything was wrong, despite his repeated, firm clarifications.

Curfew became an abstract concept for Castiel, as he spent almost every night sat in Dean and Sam’s cramped, bare living room. The brothers were, to Castiel’s view of the world, almost unbearably poor. But they didn’t seem to lack anything that truly mattered.

Dean worked with his hands for the most part. He fixed machinery and electronics down in the Warrens, for those who had such things. Sam was less technically inclined, but just as book-smart; he taught children, and plenty of adults would stop by for his wisdom and opinions too, Castiel noticed. Most of the visitors would eye Castiel curiously; an outsider still, but protected within the Winchesters’ home.

Only one, an aggressive looking, tawny-haired man that Dean declared everybody hated, seemed to overtly object to Castiel’s presence. He glared at Dean and him both whenever he passed by them, and sometimes threw words at them in a language Castiel didn’t recognize; some Unassigned slang, or one of the old languages that Castiel didn’t know, he assumed.

Dean didn’t seem bothered by the man’s outbursts, and so Castiel forgot him, as he was the only one.

On the whole, he felt welcomed. Sam took a little longer to fully warm to him than Dean did, but Castiel found that he didn’t begrudge him the caution. Quickly though, the brothers became part of his life and he of theirs; included, teased, his thoughts asked for, and his tales listened to with wonder as he described his own life, so very alien to them. More than once he caught genuine looks of pity and sorrow on their faces as he described his world, the stifling obedience that was required whenever he was outside of their bubble of illicit freedom.

It took Castiel a few weeks to realize that these people were his friends. That he cared about what happened to them, how they were treated. It wasn’t an altogether pleasant realization; seeing that the people who had been so kind to him were metaphorically spat on, erased from history, ignored, or enslaved was awful. But despite it all, they were the light of his dark days.

Unassigned company was almost always lively. Dean loved music; not the calming, computerized beats that the City allowed to aid in concentration, but rowdy, loud tunes with words and melodies that Castiel didn’t know, but grew to love. He learned song after song as the Winchesters and their friends sang them, played them, and danced to them. The food they had was meager, but always shared; Castiel tried to bring what he could from his own home and own credits, but the Unassigned were intensely proud, he discovered, and his generosity wasn’t always taken easily. Alcohol, on the other hand, was plentiful and always offered, though Castiel declined more often than not.

He learned so much from Sam, Dean, Benny, and their families and friends. Castiel’s world slowly unraveled and reformed, and even though his own life was much enriched, he didn’t like the overall design of the new tapestry. The picture was sickening, and he’d had a hand in creating it.

Every night, he would walk from the red-brick alley down to the warrens with Dean. He was always lost, and Dean would laugh at him that his sense of direction only seemed to work in the skies. Castiel argued that the twisting turns of the underground suburb were designed to keep people out; Dean agreed, but nothing could stop him from flirtatiously picking on Castiel.

“You’re a relentless tease,” Castiel grumbled bluntly one night as Dean took him home, after he’d tried to turn the wrong way yet again a few streets back, and Dean had reacted by deliberately turning Castiel’s shoulders to point him down the correct streets _—_ even the ones that he knew like the back of his hand.

They stood in the doorway of Castiel’s building for a few moments, Dean’s wolfish grin making the spacious entrance feel small.

“Not at all, Cas. It’s not a tease if it’s the truth, or if I plan to deliver when you're ready, lover.” He winked, before turning to step back into the street.

Castiel felt his body flush from the center of his chest, racing up to his cheeks. He’d been avoiding thinking that perhaps there was beginning to be some truth to Dean’s words; that the lingering looks they shared meant something, that the flirtations might not be all bravado and jest on Dean’s side, as he’d initially assumed.

But Dean had a reputation for his easy affection and many lovers, that much Castiel knew. So, he kept his wonderings unvoiced, refusing to consider them, or what he thought about them.

“You should get inside,” Dean said quietly from the street, a step below Castiel. “Before some Controllers come by. I don’t want them to question you or threaten you.”

Castiel noted the genuine concern in Dean’s voice and couldn’t help but smile down at him. “The same goes for you,” he pointed out.

Dean smiled back at him but didn’t immediately leave. He never did, watching through the glass until Castiel was safely inside his own apartment each and every night.

“Dean?” Castiel turned back, suddenly, words on his tongue that he could no longer keep in. “How can I help?”

“Help?” Dean’s expression didn’t change much, but Castiel could see it deep in the green that glimmered in the single street light. A little caution, a little hope. “What do you mean by help?”

“Help the Unassigned, help you, help… just help make things right. I can’t just live like this and not do something.”

The smile that crept back over Dean’s face wasn’t flirtatious, or pleased, it was openly adoring in a way that was almost frightening in its freedom.

“For now,” Dean said, “Just keep your head down. You’ll meet Bobby when he comes to visit Sam and me soon. There are other places that the Unassigned hide, and Bobby prefers to be out of the city itself, in the outer levels where they grow the crops, but… he’s kind of a leader, I guess, as much as we have one. I want to introduce you to him, first. Then you can decide what you want to do.”

“You want me to meet him? The unofficial leader of the Unassigned?”

“Well, yeah,” Dean grinned. “But also because he’s pretty much my dad.”

Castiel blinked, hoping that his surprise was at least a little disguised by the dim light.

“Not by blood, maybe, but by things that matter a lot more,” Dean continued, shrugging. “I’d really like to uh, see what he thinks of you. If that’s okay.”

Castiel wanted to turn some of Dean’s signature snark back on him and tease him about effectively taking Castiel home to meet his parents, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. Instead, he nodded. “Of course.”

Dean threw him one final wink before he disappeared into the shadows, calling softly back, “Same time tomorrow, lover. I’ll be waiting.”

Castiel pushed at the door of his building, but it didn’t budge. He frowned to himself. He had taken to carefully slipping a thin piece of plastic over the door latch when he came out each night; it had been Sam’s idea, to stop the door from properly closing, so he wouldn’t have to scan in with his barcode too often late after curfew. One never knew, after all, when the City was watching. He was certain he’d done the same tonight. Having no choice, he pushed up his sleeve and pressed his forearm to the pad next to the door. It admitted him with a cheerful beep, and he stepped into the building, the light hardly changing from outside the glass to within.

The piece of plastic he’d been using was on the floor behind the door. It must have slipped, he decided, and so he shrugged and tucked it back into his pants pocket. Making his way up in the elevator, he resigned to be more careful, before stepping out into the penthouse hallway that led to his apartment. The building was one of the nicest in the city; many people who were assigned to live here shared the spacious homes, as Hannah did. But Castiel was considered high enough ranked that he’d never had to share with anyone; a fact that now made him far more bitter than it did proud.

Keeping his footsteps as soft as he could, Castiel walked the short corridor from the elevator to his front door.

“Good evening, Castiel.” Hester’s flat tone made him jump. She stood outside the apartment next to his own, a small bag of trash in her hand.

“Hester,” Castiel inclined his head politely to his fiancée’s friend. She worked as Hannah’s assistant at the accounting firm her family owned, and shared her apartment. “You’re up late.”

“As are you,” she replied pointedly, before raising the bag she held. “Our trash disposal system has a fault. I was just going to pop this outside the door for the City to collect in the morning,” she offered by way of explanation.

“Oh, no need.” Castiel smiled calmly, somewhat relieved. “I’ll take it for you and put it in mine.”

“Thank you, Castiel,” she nodded, before turning back into the doorway. “Goodnight. I’ll let Hannah know you’re home safe… you know she worries about you.”

“Goodnight,” Castiel said quietly, frowning again as Hester disappeared.

He dumped the trash bag quickly, before heading to his bedroom and flopping down on his bed, sprawled out and still dressed. He was tired, but he had an impatient itch beneath his skin that he could neither place nor sate.

Hannah, he considered as he stared at the ceiling, was becoming a problem. She insisted on continuing as if Castiel merely had cold feet, as if he would come around, despite his almost daily assertions to the contrary. He felt trapped.

Castiel had tried his best to be kind to her, to offer his friendship and support in the past weeks, but nothing more. Not, he now realized, that he’d ever offered her more. He’d simply been filling the role set for him, without question.

He no longer wanted someone by his side to merely boost his status, to increase the genetic diversity of the city, to breed obedient children with.

Castiel wanted someone by his side that he cared for, that he wanted to build a free life with, that he could make love to, could _want._

The realization was sudden, sharp, and tinted green.

With a groan, Castiel pulled the pillow over his head.

_Well, shit._

He knew what he wanted, who he wanted. He wasn’t stupid, or too naïve to notice. But he was afraid, frightened to be honest with himself. He’d been afraid since the first time he’d set eyes on Dean; why else would he have risked so much and gone so out of his way? To be a good person, to try and right a wrong, of course… but that wasn’t all of it. No, a good part of it had been those spectacular green eyes and that cocky, perpetual smirk.

Dean’s hands entranced Castiel; the man waved them expressively when he talked. Once, a couple of nights before then after a few sips of moonshine, Castiel had reached out and grabbed Dean’s wrists while he spoke. He’d jokingly asked him if he could still talk without his hands being able to move.

God, the teasing look in that had been in Dean’s eyes as Castiel held his arms to the side, restricting him from moving. Everyone in the room had laughed, backing Castiel up, making fun of Dean’s gesturing; but the heat that passed between the two of them as Dean’s wrists twisted ineffectually had been electric sparks. At the time he’d dropped it immediately, returning to their conversation, not believing that there was anything to it.

Castiel was almost sure that Dean had liked it; that he liked him. Almost sure.

But Castiel had liked it; that part he was now much more than sure of.

Dean was a tactile person, always touching Castiel in the evenings as they spoke; a hand on his thigh when he laughed, a slap on his back in jest, a nudge of his shoulder as he teased. Castiel could feel the memory of Dean’s strong, large hands pressing into him… and he was gone.

He muffled his low groan into the pillow, giving in somewhere deep inside himself but not quite ready to hear his carnal confessions echoing around the room.

There was a finality to his giving in, to the way his hand tracked involuntarily down his body to squeeze through his smart, City-expected white pants, to the way they were swiftly pushed away and he was quickly gasping, laid bare not just in his own hand but in every way he possibly could be.

He had always been headed here, it was clear then, he’d merely been slow in the realization that this—eyes squeezed shut, thighs raised, hand fisted—was inevitable. The slow gasps of Dean’s name into the fabric of his pillow, the frantic, graceless slipping of his hand, the flush that built at his chest and tore up his throat as he moved faster… all of it, inevitable.

Castiel bit down on his lip, bracing himself for some kind of rush of shame that never came; some kind of feeling of wrongness, or disobedience. Nothing. Nothing but heat pooling in his groin, pulling at his muscles as he thought of the possibility of Dean’s hands on his skin, his eyes pinning him, his lips—

He came hard, and loud, and sudden, stunning himself with the sound of it.

The sheet under his back had barely been warmed by his skin before he rolled back off the bed, shoving his wrinkled, come splattered shirt into his laundry hamper to worry about in the morning. Another day.

The fact that simply thinking of Dean, deep-voiced and distinctly male-shaped, had more of an effect on him than anything else he’d previously considered for pleasure… well, that was something he just didn’t have the energy to worry about at that moment.

Maybe once he wasn’t worried he’d end up like Balthazar, maybe when the Unassigned were free, maybe when the Council weren’t militantly controlling the populace, then maybe he’d have time to care. Right then, he simply rolled onto his side and settled in for sleep, lulled by warm muscles, the fuzzy afterglow of a good orgasm, and the fluttering feelings of new, tingling emotions.

**~~***~~**

 

“Cas, you remember me telling you that Bobby was going to come visit, right?” Dean asked late one night as they sprawled around the Winchesters’ fireplace.

Benny had brought them cookies made with his own talented hands, and that afternoon Eileen had helped a friend process their latest batch of distilled moonshine into jars—in return for a share, of course. So, they had a small feast, at least by the standards down in the Warrens. It made Castiel disgusted, often, to consider the opulence that the upper echelons of the Glass City were soaked in, in comparison to these lost people. He had brought several things with him that day—some meat that he had quietly pressed upon Sam when he’d arrived (as Sam, he’d learned, was much less prideful about accepting such gifts than his brother was) and some more medical supplies, which he’d given to Eileen without a word. Dean may have prickled at Castiel’s generosity, but given all that he had, Castiel couldn’t in good faith share their evenings without giving something back. But it had to be small, so as not to offend them—the Unassigned, or at least the Winchesters, were fiercely independent in everything.

The cookies and moonshine had lifted the atmosphere of the stone-hewn living room to something jovial, but Dean had seemed a little subdued, all night. He sat on a crate, his back leaning against the wall next to the fire place, with his feet kicked out in front of him, resting on Castiel’s legs. Castiel sat on a pillow on the floor, amused rather than bothered at being Dean’s footrest. It seemed to him that Dean was quite touch-starved, as whenever Castiel was close he seemed to gravitate toward him, but neither of them ever mentioned it.

Castiel turned his head, angling it to the side so that he could get a better view of Dean. Perhaps, he hoped, Dean was finally speaking up on whatever had been on his mind all night. “Bobby—the Unassigned leader,” he confirmed. “Practically family to you. You want me to meet him.”

Benny, Sam, and Eileen had all fallen silent when Dean had spoken up, and Castiel felt an odd sense of extra gravity filling the air around him. Dean finally slipped his feet off Castiel’s knee, and placed his boots down on the floor, leaning forward with his forearms on his thighs.

“Yeah, Bobby Singer. That’s the guy,” he confirmed. “He’s probably going to be up here next week, visiting us and Chuck, and talking to some of our sympathizers up in the city. Rebellion’s afoot, Cas. But you knew that already.”

Castiel nodded slowly; he had certainly suspected as much.

“Before he gets here,” Dean continued slowly, “I just wanted to make sure that you had the full picture of what’s happening.”

Immediately, Castiel was suspicious. “The full picture? You mean, more than the fact that you _exist,_ that there’s been a whole other world in front of my face, right here in the city, for my entire life?”

Dean exhaled slowly, and his lack of a pithy reply did nothing to settle Castiel’s suddenly uneasy stomach.

“You know that what you’ve lived is a façade,” Dean continued solemnly. “But you don’t really know why, or what benefit it provides the city.”

“Go on,” said Castiel, as if he had any option to say anything else.

“We need to tell you about the Academy, Cas.”

 _So, this is the part that’s personal_ , Cas registered. _This is the part that isn’t abstract—it’s about me. My whole life, I have been the Academy. It’s been my future, I’ve tried my best to embody every virtue, until now—_

Castiel’s thoughts cut off and he said nothing of them. Instead, he turned to fully face Dean, despite their being others in the room. No one complained. In fact, Eileen rose to head off to the kitchen, and Benny quickly stood and followed her, as if he sensed something coming.

“Well, I suppose the thing to understand about it,” Dean began again once he had Castiel’s full attention, “is that the Academy exists merely as a breeding ground for ship Commanders. That sounds obvious, that they work out which of you are the best and assign your roles based on your results there, but it’s much more than it sounds.”

Castiel raised one eyebrow, questioning, but listening.

“The ships that the Glass City deploys are not for exploration and research, Cas.”

There was a pause, where Dean watched Castiel and Castiel watched Dean, and neither of them reacted.

“They’re war ships, Cas,” Dean gently added. “The training—and eventual brainwashing—that the Commanders are given is to enable them to find new planets, assault and conquer them, destroy any species that reside there, and leech them of resources.”

Castiel’s mouth opened, but no sound emerged.

“The crews,” Dean doggedly went on, “are not volunteers, not researchers and guards, they are slaves. Unassigned slaves. Why do you think they haven’t killed us all? They know we’re here. Periodically the City sends Controllers down here, to purge the Warrens of people who they can use as cannon fodder. None of them ever come back—even if they survive, they’re culled by the Commanders before they return. The City’s gotta keep its vile secrets,” Dean added, venom seeping into his voice.

“But—But, _why_?” Castiel asked plaintively, a horrified heaviness settling into his stomach.

“Do you really think,” came Sam’s softer voice from behind Castiel, “that this city can support itself entirely within this bubble? I know they tell you we’re self-sufficient in the dome. But have you ever really thought about it? Done the math, based on all the resources they use for everything—from food to plastics, glass, silicone? Think about it, Cas.”

Despite the rising panic in his stomach, Castiel did. He forced himself to consider Dean and Sam’s words, even though his initial instinct was to flinch and throw them back in their faces.

“I don’t believe you,” he blurted out, though in actual fact, he already knew that he did.

Dean gave him a sad half-smile. “I’m sorry.”

Castiel’s head swam, and he pushed himself to his feet. Dean continued talking as Castiel paced in front of the fireplace. He heard, but the words were a fuzzy background to the sour feeling of betrayal that rolled in his stomach.

The worst, he decided, was not that the Academy—the very Academy he himself was the shining star of—wasn’t actually a school for intelligent, rich men who would do great things, or that the ships they crewed after graduation were far from the peaceful colonization vessels they were sold as. No, the worst was how little any of it truly surprised him.

Sam and Dean were still talking, explaining how in their last phase of training, the Commanders were “treated”, as they termed it, and converted into perfect drones of the state. _Like Balthazar,_ Castiel realized with a sickening lurch. Wherein they flew off, with ships full of hundreds of Unassigned, people not worthy of existing in the Glass City, to find and conquer other planets that they could leech of resources until they resembled their own. And then the Commanders were loaded back onto their ships with fresh slaves and the cycle began again.

And again.

“The idea that the Glass City is a democracy, just because there’s a façade of electing the General every few years, is totally false,” Sam was espousing. “It’s actually a totalitarian plutocracy; a form of total political control by the state, wherein only the wealthy can—”

“Oh shut up, Sam,” Dean grumbled, a dry laugh slipping from his lips. “No more big words. Give him a chance to breathe—his world is on its head.”

Castiel’s world was, indeed, once again on its head. And yet somehow he found himself completely calm about it, once the initial shock was gone.

“I’m okay,” he said, sadly. “As much as I can be.”

Sam, who leaned on the mantle across from where Castiel paced, reached across and squeezed his shoulder. Castiel appreciated his support, his silent solidarity, very much. Sam had become a good friend, and it sickened Castiel to think that Sam had once viewed him as complicit in the Glass City’s schemes.

Dean rose from where he’d been sitting and came over to stand in front of Castiel. Unlike his brother, Dean simply reached and pulled Castiel into a tight, crushing hug.

“I’m sorry,” Dean reiterated into the side of Castiel’s hair.

“It’s okay. Not your fault.” Castiel shrugged awkwardly in Dean’s warm grip. “I’m sorry for saying I didn’t believe you. I do. Just took a minute.”

Dean nodded, before they seemed to simultaneously realize they were holding each other longer than was probably appropriate. They parted clumsily, to Sam’s obvious amusement.

The jar of moonshine they had suddenly seemed far too small for the group of them.

Sam stood from his crate and went to stick his head into the kitchen, retrieving Eileen and Benny. Both of them took a turn to come over to Castiel—a gentle hug from Eileen, and a surprisingly warm, crushing one from Benny. They both looked at him like they thought he’d be broken, but he wasn’t.

Instead, he felt more like his life was finally making sense. He didn’t like it—of course he didn’t—but as horrific as it was, it made more sense than the lies.

Sam reached out a hand to Eileen. She came to him, and he grinned widely, twirling and dipping her in front of the fireplace. “We should go to the Roadhouse,” he said, turning to look at his brother, Eileen still in his arms.

Castiel found himself smiling at the cute couple. He’d so rarely seen people in love, he realized, that watching Sam and Eileen felt like a privilege. It was a nice distraction.

Dean nudged Castiel in the ribs as everyone began to move, all agreeing with Sam and moving the crate-seats to the edge of the room. “Anyone would think you’ve never seen a happy couple before.” Dean grinned. “They’re a bit nauseating, I’ll give you that, but they’re newly wed, so it’s got to be excused.”

Cas shrugged. “I suppose I haven’t, or not really. Other than Gabriel, everyone I know that’s married is miserable.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “And what about you? You’ve never mentioned one way or another. Don’t you have someone in the City, at your age?”

“Not yet,” Castiel said. “The City choose my partner, but I haven’t married her yet.”

“Oh,” was all Dean said in response, before moving to throw sand on the fireplace. The room dimmed considerably, only a few embers remaining, and everyone began to move out into the corridor beyond.

“If it was my choice, I wouldn’t marry her at all,” Castiel clarified quietly to Dean as they walked through the doorway. “I don’t love her, and I’ve told her as much.” For some reason, he felt compelled to tell Dean that, even if he couldn’t quite meet his eyes as he said it.

Dean nodded but didn’t say anything in response.

“You comin’ to the Roadhouse, Cas?” Benny called from the front of the line as they made their way down the corridor single-file.

“I should probably, uh—” Castiel had heard of the Roadhouse several times in the past few weeks, but he didn’t know exactly what it was. If he had to put credits on it though, he’d bet on it being somewhere that he probably shouldn’t be. A distraction, though, certainly seemed like a fine idea.

“Of course he is,” Dean interrupted, reaching back to grab Castiel’s hand with one of his overt winks. He held it as they walked, leading him like a wicked pied-piper through the dark.

The Roadhouse, it turned out, was a bar, much as Castiel had suspected. It was hidden deep underground, in the furthest reaches of the Warrens. A place unlike any that existed in the Glass City far above, it was so full of people that Castiel halted in the doorway, his jaw dropping open.

Dean’s hand came to rest at his lower back, guiding Castiel forward gently as he leaned close to his ear, asking over the hubbub, “Are you okay, Cas? Is this too much for you?”

When Castiel turned to look at Dean, he found surprisingly concerned green eyes.

“No, I’m fine.”

“You’re sure? I feel like we ripped the rug out from under your feet again tonight, and this is a lot.” Dean gestured out to encompass the entirety of the Roadhouse.

It was a square cavern, roughly cut from stone far beneath the Glass City, somewhere under the market district, Castiel guessed. Unlike Dean and Sam’s apartment, there was electricity here; the room was lit with flashing, twisting lights in greens and dark hues that illuminated the assembled Unassigned at erratic intervals. There was a counter along one side of the room, serving as a bar like Castiel had only heard of in stories; shelves of bottles and jars lined the wall behind it, stools in front, and it was manned by a smiling, fierce-looking blonde woman and a smaller blonde girl who was reaching across the counter to land a friendly punch on Sam’s shoulder. Upon seeing Eileen, she squealed and ran around the edge of the bar, enveloping her in a hug.

There was noise all around, and for a moment Castiel was dazed. He’d never been anywhere like this before. There was a more relaxed area in the half nearest the bar, filled with tables and chairs where people gambled and drank, bursts of raucous laughter filling the air, fists slamming tabletops and cusses loudly spilling from them as they lost or won. The other half of the huge room was a stone dance floor, people writhing en masse to the pulsating beats played by a skinny, grinning man with a mullet. Bodies twirled around steel poles bolted between the floor and ceiling and rolled in mock cages and on podiums. On the dance floor, bare-chested men spun around women wearing more color than Castiel had ever seen; there were blacks and reds and materials the likes of which he didn’t know the name of.

Again, Dean’s hand came gently to his back, his mouth close to Castiel’s ear to be heard over the music. “So, what do you want to do, lover?”

Castiel rolled his eyes at the nickname Dean seemed to have chosen for him, and gestured to the slightly quieter tables. “I don’t want to dance… I don’t think I could. But I think being here will help keep my mind occupied, so I’ll stay.”

Dean accompanied him to the tables with a smirk that clearly stated he’d see about that later.

Sam appeared quickly with the small blonde woman in tow, wielding small shots of stronger moonshine in tiny glasses.

Jo, as she was quickly introduced, greeted Castiel with a carefree hug, seemingly unconcerned of the barcode at his arm. Though as she hugged him, near his ear, she whispered, “Keep that code covered in here, unless you're dancing or something. Any friend of the Winchesters is a friend of mine, but we don’t want trouble, y’hear?”

Castiel nodded solemnly, tugging his white shirt-sleeve down firmly.

A curvaceous, tanned woman made their way toward them across the room, heading straight for Benny’s seat. He greeted her with a roaring grin and a firm slap on the rear.

This, Castiel realized, must be Benny’s girl, who had tempted him down from the orderly glass world above. Castiel blushed as Benny’s hand rested on her ass, still not entirely used to the openness of these people. Such an action would have been a steep fine, at best, up above.

“Benny, baby, come dance with me,” she cooed, leaning over the burly man.

Benny curled a hand behind her hair, tangling his fingers in the coils at the back of her neck, before he pulled her down for a quick kiss. Smiling as he was done, he looked over to Castiel, gesturing. “Andrea, this is Castiel. He’s the one we have to thank for Dean healin’ up so quick after that problem at the market a little while back.”

Curious, chocolate eyes glanced over Castiel, but the end result was a nod and a smile. “Then thank you, Castiel,” Andrea said. “None of us would do well without our Righteous Man.”

She dragged Benny away to the dancefloor, the hulking man peeling his already sweaty shirt off on the way, and Castiel turned his attention back to Dean, curious. The sandy-haired man sat next to him, quietly conversing with his brother, but as soon as Castiel’s attention turned to him he moved bodily in his seat, angling toward him with an eager smile.

“Righteous Man?” Castiel asked, tilting his head curiously. “Andrea called you that, and so did the child in the alleyway when I first saw you.”

“Ahh,” Dean waved dismissively. “That’s Ben, the kid. I take food to him and his mom. Ben is sick, and Lisa can’t afford to take care of him, with no registered father.”

Curiosity peaked, Castiel couldn’t help but ask, “No registered father? Is he yours?”

Dean blinked, before bursting out laughing. “No, man. Come on now, the kid is, like, ten years old or something. Gimme some credit.”

Castiel blushed. “Sorry, that was stupid. I didn’t know if perhaps you and her… or I mean, Sam’s married so I know Unassigned _can,_ I just didn’t know if—”

Embarrassingly aware that he was babbling, Castiel was grateful when Dean cut him off, grinning and pushing another of the small shots of moonshine in his direction.

“No, Castiel,” he announced with a cheeky grin. “I’ve never been inclined to marry any of the people I’ve been with. We don’t have to do that on this side of town unless we want to. Why, you askin’?”

Despite the lascivious wink Dean gave him and the warmth Castiel felt in his face, the declaration filled Castiel with a wave of relief, for some reason. He was rather afraid to question it, pushing it away and downing the offered alcohol instead.

“You didn’t answer why they call you that,” Castiel pointed out, wanting to shift the focus from his own oddly heated cheeks.

For the first time Castiel could remember, the usually brazen Dean looked somewhat uncomfortable. “ _Those who are wise will shine like the brightness of the heavens, and those who lead many to righteousness, like the stars for ever and ever_ ,” he quoted dramatically. Again, he gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “There’s this guy, an Unassigned, who people call a prophet. He’s of the opinion that I’m some kind of long-foretold leader, that I can help guide the Unassigned back to our true home.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “And where would that be?”

“Earth.” Dean gave Castiel a little grin.

Earth. The planet of old tales, the origin point, so they said. Castiel shook his head, not even questioning whether Earth was real.

“I feel like an idiot,” he confessed to Dean. “Everything I ever believed was just a lie, wasn’t it?”

Dean’s hand covered his on the table, squeezing reassuringly for a moment. “Don’t feel bad, Cas. ‘Out on the edge you see all kinds of things you can’t see from the center,’ you know.” Again, it sounded like Dean was quoting something Castiel couldn’t place. The man seemed to be made of quotes and knowledge that despite his expensive, exclusive education, Castiel couldn’t quite grasp.

“But hey,” Dean continued. “What kind of discussion is this for your first ever visit to a bar, hmm?”

With a sweep of his hand, Dean swiped Sam’s glass of alcohol from beneath his nose, shoving it into Castiel’s hand. Sam spluttered, but didn’t make a big deal of it, choosing to laugh and wave Jo over again instead.

“Come on!” Dean smiled lazily at Castiel, allowing their eyes to linger together for a moment. “Drink up, then we’re going to dance.”

Despite his earlier protests, Castiel knew that he would. Somehow, he already knew that he’d do whatever Dean asked of him.

As soon as Castiel had grimaced his way through the drink, Dean stood from the table, and unbuttoned the simple, loose white shirt that he wore. It slipped from his arms and he balled it up on the drink-cluttered surface, before extending a hand down to Castiel.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course.” The answer was more solemn than Castiel intended, and it sat between them heavily for a moment as Sam and Eileen pushed back their chairs, moving off to fill the dancefloor along with their friends.

Castiel felt his mouth drying out as he looked at Dean before him, his hand extended in invitation. He was beautiful; Castiel had known this since the first time he’d seen him, but the fact was now registering deep down inside him, in a place Castiel had never gotten around to fully acknowledging, merely danced around for the past few weeks. His fingers trembled as he slid his hand into Dean’s, led off to the smooth stone dance area with a devilish grin and a wild, unchecked shriek of glee from Dean.

In that moment Castiel realized that he had never seen anyone so free, so unconcerned with what anyone else thought, as Dean was. They made their way into the throng, and Dean released his hand and let the music take him further in, enveloping him like a new friend.

Castiel could feel it in the soles of his feet and his bones at his knees, the vibrations shuddering through his ears and somehow landing in his chest cavity. He didn’t hear the instruments; as the volume increased, he just felt them. The music surged and pulsed, loud bass beats thronging through an even louder melody, and the bodies around them all crushed and blurred into one. The moonshine warmth that heated his cheeks sunk down to his chest and within minutes he was tugging at the bottom of his linen shirt, stripping it off carelessly much like Benny and Dean.

He was losing track of the faces and names that moved around him. Andrea, the gorgeous, curly haired woman; she pressed up against Benny like a lifeline, the two of them twisting together like snakes hypnotized by the sounds. Castiel couldn’t take his eyes from them for a long minute, losing all awareness of what his own limbs were doing. Sam was similarly twined, his hips beating out the bass in time with the sounds that his pretty wife could feel, even if she couldn’t hear. You’d never have known, Castiel marveled, the way her body moved perfectly in time with his.

Hot breath tickled at his ear and Dean was there; his hands slipping across Castiel’s tanned flanks, turning him for conversation.

“Not so bad now, is it, lover?” Dean managed to make it sound like a whisper, even over the noise.

Castiel’s breath stuttered, but he could make no sensible response; caught up in the realization that he could feel the throbbing of the music through Dean as he pressed close; their chests thrumming in unison as Dean reeled him in, their hips hugging as he ground Castiel up against him, dirty and tight. He could feel the sound through Dean’s very skin as his hand slid up Castiel’s neck, pulling their faces close, until all Cas could see was green, green, green.

Forest eyes, moonshine breath, and feather-light fingers moved Castiel this way and that to the music. Castiel felt himself give out a low moan, and the green turned more wolfish, a thrum of a different kind moving up from Castiel’s groin to his stomach, where it fluttered, heavy and unsure.

“You insist on calling me that Dean, but it isn’t true,” was the only dumb thing to make it from Castiel’s lips. “I’m not your lover,” he managed to clarify, his mouth hovering above Dean’s ear.

Wolfish turned predatory, and one of Dean’s hands found purchase in the back of Castiel’s hair as they moved together, vibrating against each other.

“Give me time, Cas. Give me time.”

Dean’s lips pressed into his so much more softly than he would ever have expected, such easy, slick heat, plush against Castiel’s mouth.

And oh, that… that was why Hannah was never the one.

He tasted of salt and sweat and everything Castiel had never had, and for just a moment, everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

When Castiel woke in the morning, everything hurt, and nothing was beautiful anymore.

He groaned against the pillow, his hand flying to his forehead and slipping down to shield his eyes from the light that seeped through the unshielded window. Somewhere between rolling onto his side, reaching for the glass of water he kept beside his bed, and unceremoniously vomiting onto the rug, the entire night before came back in a flash.

He knelt beside his bed, his shoulders shaking in panic as he grabbed the small trash can that lived under his desk, heaving into it violently.

 _Oh god,_ he thought in horror, cradling the plastic trash can. _What have I done?_

Before he could even begin to process the events of the evening he’d spent dancing and laughing beneath the city, there was a tapping at his bedroom door.

“Castiel? Are you alright?” Hannah’s voice was concerned, but unfortunately loud.

Castiel groaned. “Yes! Yes, I’m fine. I just… I think I’m sick.”

“Should I send for someone at the infirmary?” Hannah asked, through the door.

“No, I’ll be fine, Hann. I probably just need to rest. What are you doing here?”

Hannah was quiet for a moment. “Hester said she saw you coming home early this morning, when she was rising to get ready for prayers. Very early. Just before dawn. It seemed…” she trailed off. “I’d never known you be out beyond curfew, I was concerned.”

Castiel’s mouth filled with guilt and churning bile. After a few more minutes of retching, he called weakly, “I’m sorry for worrying you, Hannah. Really, everything will be fine. I’m unwell and I need to rest, but please don’t worry.”

There was silence, but Castiel knew Hannah was still there. He waited.

“Castiel, about the wedding—”

He slumped, lowering his head to his knees as he sat next to the bed, cradling the trash can next to him still, just in case. He licked his lips, finding them parched and cracked. “Nothing has changed, Hannah. I don’t know what to tell you, other than I’m sorry.”

Silence eventually turned into footsteps leading away from his door, and Castiel heaved a sigh of relief.

The night before had been a lot. A shock to his senses. When Dean had kissed him on the dancefloor of the Roadhouse, so many things had suddenly fit together inside him that it had been all Castiel could do to not burst into tears as he danced. Dean seemed to sense his troubles; while his arms had held Castiel close as they danced and drank for several more hours, he hadn’t kissed him again.

Dean had accompanied him across the city, making sure he got home. The walk had been tense, and silent, and Castiel thought now, looking back, that Dean had probably taken it as a rejection.

It wasn’t, or not in the way that Dean probably thought.

Castiel couldn’t shake off his entire life in one night. He had a place to fill, responsibilities, people who relied upon him. His family who judged him, Hannah, who despite his protests, still seemed set on marrying him. Everything was a mess, and Dean’s beautiful, heart-stopping lips didn’t help him sort out the remains of his life.

But his lips had been, so far at least, the pinnacle of Castiel’s existence. As he leaned back against the edge of his bed, taking shallow breaths lest he irritate his angry stomach, Castiel lifted a hand to trail one finger across his lower lip, the smile that pulled at him dreamy and lost. Kissing Dean had felt amazing, like the world around them just… stopped. Like everything made sense, for just those few seconds when they were pressed together. Like nothing else mattered.

As an adult in the Academy, Castiel had never felt joy. It was an emotion that had only been awoken in him very recently, between Dean’s advances and the free, easy company of people who laughed, and joked, and danced. But once he’d had a taste, he craved it.

 _What am I going to do now?_ He wondered dully, gazing listlessly at the wall of his bedroom.

It took nearly an hour for Castiel to drag himself to the bathroom, rinse his mouth with fresh water, and keep down a simple breakfast and some mild tea. Drinking, he decided, might be something to do with rather more moderation.

He recalled Balthazar, when they were teenagers, talking fast and with flushed cheeks after a glass of contraband wine that he’d smuggled from the church; the only place in the Glass City where alcohol could be found. _Or rather,_ Castiel corrected, _the only place above ground._ Castiel hadn’t been inclined to even taste the forbidden substance back then, the drops that graced his tongue at communion all he would ever have, to his mind. He’d been so determined to be good.

 _And look at me now,_ he realized, sorrowfully.

The number of laws he’d broken in the past couple of months were enough to put him away far below the Council chambers. Though in truth, he knew that kissing Dean alone was enough to be put to death, though it wasn’t something that was spoken of. But everyone knew what would happen if such deviant desires were acted upon.

His heart ached as he thought of Charlie. What a world was he living in, where love—of the kind he’d seen firsthand, for the first time, in the dim lights of the hidden realm beneath the City—was a punishable offense? Marriage, children, devotion… those things, he now knew with certainty, were never meant to be regulated and enforced by those with more power or more money.

What had Sam called it? A totalitarian plutocracy? Castiel would have pulled over his data screen and looked up the terms, but with a sinking certainty that made him feel more sick than even the moonshine had, Castiel knew that if he looked that up on his Academy issued screen, it’d be the last thing he ever got to type.

He had no clue what he was supposed to do, now. How was he supposed to go through his life, pretending?

The first step, he felt, was a brisk, hot shower, before he was supposed to check in at the Academy this afternoon.

Castiel’s bathroom was almost entirely white tile, sterile-looking and bland. Hannah hated it; she had mentioned something once about how, in their home, when they were issued one, she would introduce flowers. Castiel had shrugged and agreed. Of course.

But now he was grateful for the blandness of the space, so that nothing overstimulated his tender head. He stood under the warm spray, rolling his shoulders, thinking back once more to the night before. His thoughts drifted back to Dean unbidden, the recollection of his velvet tongue and soft, slick lips enough to have Castiel hardening shamefully between his legs while he soaped his hair.

Resolutely, he ignored it and rinsed off, quickly easing his half-erect cock into his underwear and doing his best to will it gone. The air of shame that filled his stomach angered him; logically, he could find no place for it, beyond a lifetime of habit. If he hadn't felt it before, why would it show up now?

By the time Castiel reached the Academy, his mood was black and foul. What was he supposed to do here, now? Sit through his lecture and smile?

He realized, with the return yet again of the bile in his stomach, that was exactly what he was going to have to do. If he didn’t attend, questions would be asked, and for now, he had no answers for them.

Castiel sat near the back of the afternoon class, high up among the colosseum-style seating that circled around the podium below, General Naomi’s calm face projected on a huge, transparent screen in the middle. She droned on, and Castiel did his best to take notes.

His thoughts, of course, were elsewhere; several weeks in the future, after his twenty-second birthday, after his mandated but now-dreaded wedding, in his training with General Naomi. The final, private training, the one that authorized him to assume command of his own ship. The one he now knew would turn him into a drone no different than Balthazar had become.

General Naomi lectured on, speaking of the law and order they could bring to new worlds. Castiel’s notes trailed off as his hand trembled, afraid. His fear increased to a bone-deep terror as he considered what that woman would do to him, and he sat frozen in his seat, struggling to breathe as the lecture wore on.

 

**~~***~~**

 

Castiel had just finished exchanging a brief, stiff greeting with Joshua, a man of moderately good family who Castiel had shared classes with for two years, when a hand darted out and clasped his wrist. Before he could yell out, he was pulled swiftly into an empty room; the bustle of the Academy between classes passing beyond the crack in the door as his eyes adjusted to the dark and he registered the hand across his mouth.

Captivatingly green irises hovered in front of his, and Castiel let out a slow breath. Dean stared into his eyes, and they looked at each other for a long moment, communicating without any words. Castiel nodded slowly; he was calm, he wouldn’t yell. He wouldn’t give Dean away.

“What are you doing here?” Castiel whispered furiously as Dean slipped his hand down from his mouth, resting it at Castiel’s shoulder rather than releasing him entirely. His white shirt sleeve, such simple camouflage in the city, slipped up just slightly at the angle, revealing half an inch of the bare, smooth forearm that Castiel still found so oddly fascinating.

Dean, of course, curled up his lip, coy. “Aww, you didn’t miss me, lover?” he whispered huskily.

Despite himself, Castiel chuckled. “You’re incorrigible, Dean.”

“I don’t know what that means, but thanks,” Dean grinned widely.

Castiel’s eyes flicked to the gap in the door. In the corridor beyond, a buzzer sounded, and students and lecturers alike surged around, hurrying back and forth.

“It’s a huge risk for you to be here, Dean.”

“I know, I just—” Dean stopped, lowering his eyes in a way that Castiel would have termed as shy on just about anybody else.

“What?” Castiel pressed.

“Look, Cas, I’m sorry for putting on you what I did. When I woke up this morning, I realized that you didn’t ask for any of it, and you didn’t deserve that burden just because you were kind enough to help someone you didn’t know.”

Castiel nodded slowly, sensing that Dean wasn’t finished, but frowned and found that he had to interrupt. “The truth isn’t a burden, Dean. Alright, so life since I met you has been…” Castiel trailed off, torn between telling Dean the truth and making him feel better. Eventually he smiled ruefully and tried to hover in the middle. “Well, things have certainly been confusing. I don’t know what to do, or who to turn to. It’s a lot. But it’s not your fault just because it came from your lips.”

Dean’s grin was as lazy as ever. “Well, I don’t know if you mean my tales of rebellion or my excellent kissing, but I appreciate you not wanting to shoot the messenger.”

Castiel chuckled, keeping his voice low as his eyes darted to the door once more. “I know you didn’t come all this way, and take this much risk, just because you felt a little guilty,” he said.

“You caught me, that’s not the whole reason,” Dean admitted. His hand still resting at Castiel’s shoulder, he gave him a small squeeze, watching his fingers for a moment as if working up to something. “Look, Cas—” Dean’s eyes came sharply back up to Castiel’s, pinning him like a bug in amber. “—if you want me to leave you alone, I will.”

Castiel was suddenly very aware of how close they were to each other, Dean’s breath softly hitting his face as they stood in the empty tutoring room.

“But if you don’t want that… like I don’t want that…” Dean’s Adam’s apple bobbed erratically as he swallowed. “Then meet me, tonight. At the back of the infirmary, an hour before dawn. Under the golden clock.”

For a moment neither of them spoke, just staring into each other’s eyes. Castiel eventually nodded his understanding, but it didn’t break the spell. Slowly, oh so slowly, Dean leaned in and closed the space between them, ghosting his lips across Castiel’s with a caution so sweet that it caused Castiel’s throat to catch, and he held his breath as Dean judged his reaction, and gauged it safe to come back for a little more.

Dean tasted of something fresh and lemony, and his musky scent of oil and leather and the bad part of town enveloped Castiel like something familiar and loved, despite having only smelled it once before. Castiel raised his hand to Dean’s neck, sliding his fingers up to bury them in the soft, dark-blond hair behind Dean’s ear. His thumb trailed along Dean’s jaw as their tongues entwined, and he stroked almost instinctively at the faint stubble that peppered his cheek.

“Dean—” Castiel couldn’t say anything else, his gaze dropping as breath and rational thoughts were stolen away.

When he didn’t finish the sentence, Dean nodded, pulling away. “An hour before dawn,” he reminded him, before seeking Castiel’s eyes once again. “Please,” he added, almost pleading.

“How are you getting out of here?” Castiel whispered, suddenly remembering the danger Dean was in, an intruder so close to the center of the hive.

“Luck, mostly,” Dean shrugged.

“Come on,” Castiel tilted his head towards the door. “Keep your head down and walk with me.”

Dean nodded, seeming grateful, and moved behind Castiel as the two of them slipped out of the tiny tutoring room and back into the main corridor. The crowd was thinning out, the next class having already started, but the odd student still scurried back and forth to a locker or private session.

They kept their heads down, moving swiftly through the corridors to where the Academy let out onto a side street; a safer bet than the ornate front doors, Castiel decided.

Dean’s eyes flickered around whenever they could, taking in many of the placards and statues that lined the hall, pompous-looking men and superior-faced women gazing down at them.

“They all look so high and mighty,” Dean commented quietly as they stepped out of the side door, onto the street.

“They think they are,” Castiel countered flatly.

“Just because you can read, write and do a little math, doesn’t mean that you’re entitled to conquer the universe.”

Again, Castiel noted, Dean had that odd tone. He tilted his head, not wanting to hold Dean up, but deeply curious. “Who is it? All these quotes you use?”

“Kurt Vonnegut, of course,” Dean gave Castiel a disparaging smirk. “You mean with all your fancy book-learning at the Academy, you’ve never read _Hocus Pocus?_ ”

Castiel shook his head.

“ _Cat’s Cradle_? _A Man Without a Country_? _Slaughterhouse-Five_? Dude,” Dean laughed deeply. “We’re going to have to get you a real education when we get you out of here.”

With another wink, Dean strolled off into the crowds that thronged through the afternoon streets.

 

**~~***~~**

 

Castiel’s foot jiggled nervously as he waited in the dark street beneath the golden clock. The back entrance to the infirmary was just a few doors down from where he stood, concealed in the recessed doorway of a nondescript office building. Or at least, as concealed as he could be, given the glass exterior.

Hannah’s face when he’d gently informed her that he didn’t wish to spend the evening with her going over wedding plans had all but broken his heart. He genuinely had no wish to hurt her, but he finally understood that marrying her would be the worst thing for them both and allowing her to guilt him into it would be something he’d grow to resent her for as the years passed.

Dully, he wondered what would happen if he told the Council he refused to marry Hannah.

 _Shortly after your wedding date, you might not even be free to think. So that could be the last choice you have,_ a tiny voice in the back of his head reminded him, chillingly. _No,_ Castiel thought, determined. _I’d rather die, than that. The things the Council would have me do…_

He was so caught up in his worries that he didn’t see Dean moving along the street until he slipped into the doorway next to him, making Castiel jump.

“Well, hello to you too,” Dean teased at his flinch. He was wearing the same loose, simple white shirt and pants as he usually did, perfect for blending into the city without standing out, though he also had a worn leather bag with a long strap thrown over one shoulder and hitting his hip, satchel-like.

“Apologies,” Castiel said, as quiet as Dean was. “I didn’t see you coming, too caught up in my thoughts.”

“Dreaming of my arrival?” Dean jested, his now-familiar cocky grin plastered across his face.

“No,” Castiel said bluntly. “Thinking of how in just a few weeks I could be reduced to nothing but a mindless drone, and contemplating that killing myself would be a better option than knowing the things I would do under the City’s command.”

Dean blinked at him, clearly shocked. He placed both hands on Castiel’s shoulders, turning him in the doorway so that they faced each other directly. “Cas,” he said quietly. “I won’t let them do that to you, no matter what. Okay?”

They shared a look for a long moment, and Castiel found that for whatever reason, he trusted Dean.

“Okay.”

Slipping his hand into Castiel’s, Dean led him silently through the deserted streets, the darkness of the hour mostly concealing them where the glass walls did not. They moved around the side of the infirmary, to the other side of the clock tower, and stood next to a small, closed wooden door.

“In the infirmary, working as one of the Grigori, there is a man named Tamiel,” Dean whispered as they walked. “He’s one of us.”

Castiel knew that the Grigori were the watchers, the guards of the wards of the infirmary that the public were not admitted to. Wards where ‘imperfect’ children were ushered once they were birthed, and ‘deviant’ folk such as Charlie—and now himself, he supposed—were quietly taken to be ‘treated’ for their ills. “He’s Unassigned?” Castiel questioned incredulously, “and works in the open?”

“No.” Dean shook his head, standing still beneath the back of the golden clock tower, not touching the door. “He’s not Unassigned. He’s merely had his eyes opened, like you. He helps us.”

“How?”

“By getting people in and out of the city.”

Castiel felt his jaw drop and didn’t bother to correct it. There was so much wrong with what Dean had just said that he barely knew where to begin.

Dean reached across, tilting Castiel’s watch-face toward him so that he could read the time. The moment that the small digits clicked over to five past the hour, there was a soft click next to them, and the door popped gently open.

Placing his palm flat to it, Dean pushed it open and began to step into the dark interior. When Castiel didn’t immediately follow, he reached out for his hand and gently entwined their fingers together. “Still trust me?” he asked softly.

Castiel pushed his frozen feet to move.

It was almost pitch black inside the base of the clock tower, but Dean seemed to know exactly where he was going. He kept his hand linked inside Castiel’s, pulling him close behind him.

“Steps,” Dean whispered after a minute.

Castiel felt around carefully in the dark with his foot, finding the edge of the first step. The staircase was hard, like stone, and moved steeply downwards.

They spiraled around, heading deep into the ground as far as Castiel could make out, before edging their way through a thin corridor that didn’t seem that much taller than the two of them. Dean’s brother Sam would have struggled here, Castiel thought. He lost track of how far they walked. It seemed a long way, but in the dark and silence, it was hard to judge.

After more indeterminable time, Dean came to an abrupt halt, and Castiel could sense him digging into the bag he carried over his shoulder, searching for something.

There was a click and a quiet _thunk_ , and Castiel realized that Dean must have been looking for a key.

A line of dim light appeared, widening as Dean pushed the door open and stepped through.

Beyond, there was a rocky field, grey and littered with dead-looking scrubby bushes. The air that came through the gap in the door smelled different, somehow; dusty and zingy, and made Castiel’s nose tingle.

It was beyond.

Castiel knew, instinctively, that what he was looking at was beyond the walls of the Glass City.

Dean waited for him, his green eyes resting weightily on his face.

The fear that gripped Castiel was solid and choking, and he couldn’t shake it. “Is… is it safe?” he whispered to Dean.

Everything he had ever been taught, since birth, told him that stepping outside was a death sentence. Toxins in the air, radiation, dangerous, destructive weather. Of all the things that Castiel had learned in the past weeks, of all the lessons he had unlearned, somehow this one thing, this betrayal, cut deepest and was hardest to shake.

“Hey,” Dean stepped back up to him, reaching out slowly. “It’s okay. I promise.” He rested one hand at Castiel’s hip, the other sliding up over his shoulder. The hug he pulled him into was gentle, but warm and safe-feeling as Dean whispered close to Castiel’s ear. “It’s alright Cas. I’ve got you. I’ve been here more times than I can count and look at me; I’m fine. Don’t be afraid.”

Castiel realized that by stepping outside, he was trusting Dean with his life.

So, he took a breath, and did it.

 

**~~***~~**

 

They hiked across the rocky terrain for perhaps ten minutes, Dean moving them along quickly as if they had a time limit or somewhere specific to be, though he denied either when Castiel questioned it.

They had been walking uphill for a few minutes when the ground began to dip away on the dim horizon, and Castiel realized they had walked to the top of a shallow hill that sat above a ravine. They could see for several miles, or could if it had been just a little lighter.

Dean stopped, dropping the large satchel from his shoulder and lowering himself to the ground, leaning back against one of the sizeable boulders that littered the landscape. Opening his bag while Castiel stood and watched, he pulled a thin blanket from where it was tightly rolled within, spreading it on the floor.

“Come on down, sit with me,” Dean offered, patting the blanket next to him invitingly.

Castiel sat down next to Dean, positioning himself so that the rock was to his back, as Dean had done. “Why are we here?” he asked, curious.

In the soft, glowing light of the distantly rising sun, Castiel could make out a blush at Dean’s cheeks.

“For that,” Dean said, pointing out across the ravine to where a slither of the sun peeked over the horizon, dying the rocks stunning shades of orange and red and lighting the tumultuous clouds as the edge of the world beautiful pink.

The sunrise was much more impressive than it seemed from within the city. Obscured by so many buildings, the sun had a long, lazy journey to make before it peeked over the top of them, and even when it had, the glass dome filtered its intensity.

Out there beyond the city, the sunrise was stunning. Romantic, even.

“The sunrise?” Castiel grinned, a small laugh escaping him. “You brought me all the way out here to watch the sunrise with you?”

Dean’s cheeks burned, but he nodded. “Yeah, I did. I figured you’d laugh at me, but... I really wanted to.”

Hearing the cocky Unassigned sound so very unsure did something strange in Castiel’s stomach, forcing it to flip over as he watched the thin, golden light begin to illuminate Dean’s face. He shifted on the blanket, angling himself so that he could cup at Dean’s cheek, guiding him to look back up at him.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

Dean’s cheeks were still flushed, slightly warm under Castiel’s fingers, but his smile was gaining back some of its surety. “Don’t tell Sam I’m a romantic at heart,” he said, wagging a finger. “I’ll never live it down.”

Nervously, Castiel slid down slightly against the rock and, sensing no objection from Dean, he let his weight loll against the man’s side, and his head against his shoulder.

Dean responded without a word, sliding his arm up to pull Castiel close, resting his own head on top of Castiel’s hair.

They just watched for long minutes, slowly relaxing. It was so quiet, all Castiel could hear was Dean’s breathing above his head, and the occasional flap of the edge of the blanket in the breeze. The air was cool, but not unpleasant, already warming from the growing fingers of sunlight.

As the sun rose, the world was revealed to Castiel for the very first time.

 

 

 

 

He hadn’t expected beauty, beyond the walls. It was a barren sight, but one that pulled at his heartstrings, nonetheless. Much of the ground was visibly dead, no flora, fauna a long lost idea. But the rocks were free, and they sang breathy songs of liberty in the wind. It was beautiful, the unrestrained sky. Just clouds, naught else. No glass. No shame. No obedience.

Dean and Castiel lay together, under the nothing sky, and for a few precious minutes, they were free.

“It must have been so pretty out here, before,” Castiel said quietly, after a time.

He felt, rather than saw, Dean nod. “The Unassigned leader I told you about who raised Sam and me, Bobby? He has pictures. It was beautiful. Not as beautiful as Earth, maybe, but nice. Healthy, full of life.”

“Earth is beautiful? I mean, it was in stories, but…”

“Yeah. Everything we have that shows the planet, shows it being beautiful.”

“Is it really destroyed, like this?”

“You remember the prophet I told you about?” Dean asked.

“The one who calls you the Righteous Man?” Castiel grinned, enjoying being able to needle Dean about the given title that seemed to embarrass him so much.

“Yes,” Dean said, and Castiel could sense his green eyes rolling without even looking up at his face. “That prophet.”

“What about him?”

Dean shifted, lifting his head up from leaning on Castiel to look out over the breathtaking ravine. He ran his hand slowly up and down Castiel’s side, just stroking as he responded. “He thinks that Earth isn’t destroyed. Or rather, it was once, but as humans fled and left it alone for so many thousands of years, it recovered.”

“Why?” Castiel said curiously, repositioning himself so he could look up at Dean, their faces close. “Why does he think that?”

“Because in places, this planet is recovering too. Not fast, and it would likely still be hundreds of years before anyone could grow food out here. But the radiation died back fifty years ago, and some places have grass, and running water.”

Castiel blinked, amazed. “Huh,” he said, unable to think of any other response.

Dean grinned. “Eloquent. That fancy Academy education really pays off.”

“Oh shut up,” Castiel said, jabbing Dean in the side with an elbow. “Do you have any idea how surprising this all is, for me?”

Dean’s face softened, by a degree that took Castiel by surprise. “Yeah, I do. I’ve seen plenty of people go through learning what you have, and you know what?”

Castiel raised an eyebrow, encouraging him on.

“You’re incredibly brave, Cas.”

A small laugh burst out of Castiel at the unexpected compliment.

“You are,” Dean insisted. “Yeah, I could tell here and there that a lot of the stuff you’ve learned the past couple of weeks scared you. But you faced it, and never lost your head about it. You were more concerned thinking about the people that relied on you than you were about yourself… and you were strong enough, brave enough, that you realized you’d do anything rather than be what the City wanted you to be.”

Dean’s voice grew surprisingly husky as he spoke, and he smiled down at Cas with an open, unaffected fondness as he finished. “I’m in awe of you, actually.”

Castiel felt his cheeks heat, so to distract Dean from his embarrassment before he could tease him for it, he leaned in and kissed him.

For the first time, completely alone, out beyond the city, Castiel let his eyes drift closed and lost himself in it. The delighted gasp that Dean gave out as they connected was swallowed up, and they hummed lightly against one another in pleasure. One kiss softly drifted into more. Castiel danced his tongue forward, learning Dean’s taste and the texture of his lips. Dean’s hands slipped up to his hair, fingers tangled between the untamable curls that tucked behind Castiel’s ears.

After several minutes of delicious, uninterrupted exploration, Dean’s hands slid down Castiel’s sides, sliding their bodies together and resting his thumbs at his hip bones.

Pulling back for a just a moment, Dean’s face lit with a dazed grin. “God, you’re gorgeous, lover,” he said, still just inches from Castiel’s lips. “I’ve never met a man that affects me like you do.”

Castiel chuckled, teasing. “I do believe you are trying to seduce me, Dean Winchester.”

Dean’s wide smile turned wolfish. “And yet another moral occurs to me; make love when you can, it is good for you.”

“Vonnegut, again?” Cas asked, with a slight gasp as Dean’s lips trailed down to his neck.

“You’re learning,” Dean said against his skin.

Castiel felt his body thrumming with an excitement he’d never before allowed, Dean’s heat and attention pushing away all the shame he’d been trained to feel. This… there was no way this could be wrong, or shameful, or any bad thing.

Dean lavished attention on his collarbone, before drifting back to his lips.

“I’m glad you showed me the sunrise,” Cas said idly, humming with a smile as Dean’s hand eased under his shirt, the pad of his thumb tracing Castiel’s lower left rib.

“I wish I could show you more, but that part is up to you,” Dean smiled against his cheek, using his spare hand to gesture outward across the ravine. “This sunrise is nice, but about the best this planet has to offer.”

“Show me more?” Castiel’s voice was curious, but he was mostly involved with taking the chance of Dean’s distraction to kiss down onto his shoulder, pulling aside the collar of his shirt.

Dean gave a happy sigh at the movements of Castiel’s mouth, but continued. “Earth, of course.”

Castiel pulled back, now too intrigued not to. “What do you mean?”

“Your ship, of course. The _Nebesa_. You’re the only one that could command her, and she’s the most powerful ship in the fleet. She could reach Earth, you know, in a year or so.”

Something pulled at the back of Castiel’s mind. Dean was still talking, but he no longer heard.

Castiel grabbed his shirt, pulling it down and pushing Dean’s wandering hand aside, suddenly feeling exposed.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, brow creased, as Castiel moved back from him.

Castiel stood up, taking a step back, frowning.

“Cas?”

“I never told you that, Dean. I never told you that I was to command the _Nebesa_.”

“You must have.”

“No, I definitely didn’t.” Something cold and icy was wrapping itself around Castiel, despite the morning’s temperature being so comfortable. “Is that what this is all about?”

Dean blinked.

Castiel gestured around at the blanket, and the now mostly-risen sun. “Was this your plan, all along, once you looked me up in the register and realized I could be of use to you? To seduce me, to get to my ship? So that the ‘Righteous Man could lead the Unassigned back to their true home’,” he quoted, affecting Dean’s voice. “Is that all this was?”

For a moment Dean looked amazed, then hurt, then angry. “You think I would do that?”

“I don’t know,” yelled Cas. “Would you? I barely know you!”

Dean’s mouth hung slightly open. His shoulders stiff, he rolled quickly to his knees and began to stuff the blanket back into his bag with hasty motions, not bothering to roll it and merely squeezing it in beside everything else that the bag bulged with.

“You can follow me back to the city. Or find your own way back, Castiel.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

The journey back to the Glass City was quick and silent. Twice, Castiel almost stopped, wanting to pull at Dean’s hand. Wanting to apologize, to give him a chance to explain. They hadn’t known each other all that long, that was true. Approximately two months, in all. Yet somehow Castiel felt a profound bond with this man that he didn’t want to examine too closely, just yet. So, despite his confusion and hurt, he wanted to give Dean the opportunity to deny what it seemed had happened.

Unfortunately, Castiel was also stubborn as all hell, and he just couldn’t get his mouth open to say the words.

So instead, they stomped silently back into the tunnel under the city, Dean’s expression even darker than the lightless corridor.

For a reason that Castiel was unsure of, Dean didn’t turn on his heel and leave his side the moment they got back into the city. Throngs of people filled the streets this early in the morning, on their way to churches, jobs, schools. They walked closely, though every inch between them was suddenly a mile compared to their closeness so shortly before.     

Everything felt off, and wrong, but Castiel couldn’t work out how to address it.

The golden clock, running ahead of time, was quite a few streets away from Castiel’s apartment. He hurried, alternating between checking that he wouldn’t walk into anyone and watching his own feet. The crowds of assigned people, like sheep, that pressed in on all sides bothered him; he wanted space, and he wanted to yell at them that they were all fools. Cowardly, repressed, blind idiots like he had been.

The glass doorway to his apartment building was empty, and Dean stepped into the clear archway for a moment, dropping his messenger bag down on the floor as he straightened out his shirt, making sure that the sleeves were well tugged down, covering his clear, barcode-less arms.

“Cas—” Dean began, hesitant and hurt sounding. Whatever he had been about to say was cut short by a yell from further up the street.

“Hey! You!”

Castiel lifted his eyes, searching the street with a frown. As everyone in a City wore practically the same thing, it definitely made it harder to pick someone out of a crowd. But, pushing through the people, baton-first, there came an angry, white-uniformed Controller.

“Fuck!” Dean barked out, darting from the doorway without a backwards glance, as the same Controller that had beaten him bloody the day Castiel had met him surged through the passers-by, yelling after him.

The controller spared Castiel only the briefest look, a deep frown, before returning to sprinting after his prey.

A few people in the road curiously lifted their heads to see what the noise was about; most did not. Despite their fight, and Castiel’s anger at Dean’s manipulation, he still felt his heart in his throat as he watched Dean disappear into the sea of white shirts.

He exhaled slowly, relieved, as he seemed to escape.

Castiel realized he should move to get inside his private quarters, before the Controller came back with questions about why he was walking with an Unassigned. Those would be incredibly difficult questions to answer, and despite everything he’d already done, he had no particular desire to end up in the jail beneath the city center.

Pushing up his sleeve, he scanned his barcode against the black pad next to the door. A gentle beep and a content green light popped for just a moment, before the door slid almost soundlessly open.

One foot half into the building, Castiel stumbled. Looking down, he realized he’d tripped over Dean’s large satchel, his foot tangled around a corner of the hastily packed blanket that he hadn’t bothered to roll back up. Scowling, Castiel realized that leaving Dean’s possessions on the doorstep of his building was as incriminating as anything else, so he grabbed the bag and dragged it quickly into the apartment complex with him, before hoisting it up onto his shoulder.

He stood by the elevator, waiting.

It arrived swiftly, and he stepped aside to let the current passengers out.

“Good morning, Castiel.” Hester’s voice was flat and displeased.

“Hester,” Castiel said, surprised. He inclined his head to her, politely.

She was usually friendly enough, but as she stepped off the elevator her demeanor seemed particularly cold; due, Castiel was sure, to his recent rejection of Hannah.

She looked him up and down, squinting at the crumpled, overstuffed bag on his shoulder. “That’s new,” she commented, something mildly spiteful pulling at her tone. “It doesn’t much suit you. Have a good day, Castiel,” she added, before turning and heading toward the front door to the street.

Castiel blinked slowly, feeling like he’d been thrown onto his back foot, but unsure why. After a second he shook himself and made his way onto the elevator.

He quickly rode up and let himself into his apartment, grateful that he had no classes today; he’d only be expected to attend Church with Hannah, nothing more. That would give him at least a couple of hours to shower, eat, and then sit around and be miserable so that he could nurse what felt suspiciously like a broken heart.

Although the walk out to the ravine hadn’t been that long, Castiel found he was both physically and emotionally exhausted. He dragged himself through the apartment to his bed, throwing Dean’s bag and his own white overcoat, now tinged to a tan color in many places from the dirt out beyond the walls, down on top of the unmade sheets. He lowered himself down to the edge of the mattress and leaned forward, his head in his hands.

After breathing slowly for a minute, he turned to the side to lay back onto the bed, pushing Dean’s heavy satchel out of the way. _What in hell has he got in there?_ Cas wondered. It was certainly heavier than it looked to be.

Curiously, Cas flicked open the bag and pulled out the blanket they had sat on, intending to roll it up and tuck it back inside properly, as Dean hadn’t had time, rushing to get back to the city in his fury. Tangled with the blanket, something solid and rectangular slid out of the bag as he pulled on the fabric.

It fell face down on the bed, and Castiel realized with an odd little thrill that it was a _book._

Not a data screen copy of a text, which was all Castiel had ever really used, but a real, solid, honest-to-goodness, pages and spine, _book,_ like the ones Sam had.

Slowly, reverentially, he reached out to turn it over and read the title. It was a copy of _The Sirens of Titan_ , by Kurt Vonnegut. Despite the heavy feeling that still sat in his chest, Castiel couldn’t help the small, sad smile he let out. Of course, it would be Vonnegut. Slipped into the first page, there was a thin white slip of paper. Castiel tugged it out of the book, marveling. The weight of the material, the smoothness of its surface, the little details of its composition were amazing to him. He’d so rarely seen paper in the Glass City; he knew what it was, but such a throwaway use of trees within their little glass bubble was ridiculously expensive, at best. Somehow, Castiel knew that this paper, and this book, came from a much older source.

 

 _For Castiel_ , the paper read.

 

His heart stuttered in his chest, and for a moment Castiel clasped at his sternum, fearing that it had stopped entirely.

 

_What better way to introduce you to Vonnegut than with a lesson on the themes of free will. This was always a favorite of mine, and I’ve highlighted a couple of the important things I want you to know the most._

_It’s just the beginning._

_Dean._

 

The book was old, the cover soft and the pages worn from much use. Using his thumb Castiel flicked through the slim book, something that was to be a gift for him, he now realized. The pages _shushed_ by with a gentle turning noise, and a mild, musty smell released from between the leaves. As the pages flashed by here and there, he noted the odd scribble in the margins, made with an old ink pen; Dean had left notes for him, as he said.

Holding the book by its spine, Castiel let it fall easily open to its most used page. There, part way down, a quote had been carefully underlined. In the margin, next to it, Castiel’s name had been painstakingly written, only the barest blob of ink escaping on the downstroke of the ‘t’.

“A purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved,” Castiel read aloud.

He held the book in his hands for a long time, not moving at all until Hannah knocked on the door to hasten him on to church.  

 

 

 

**~~***~~**

 

_“Then in fellowship sweet we will sit at His feet, or we’ll walk by His side in the way; What He says we will do, where He sends we will go; Never fear, only trust and obey…”_

Hannah sang clearly at Castiel’s side, her voice high and crisp.

Castiel didn’t really hear her sweet tones, only the words that reinforced more about the City itself than about the God it claimed to worship. _Somehow, they perverted even this,_ Castiel thought dully, moving silently into line for communion.

As the droplets of wine hit his tongue and the dry, tasteless cracker was placed into his hands, he wondered where these traditions had come from, if they had once meant _more_ than just the City’s indoctrination. He hoped so.

Such an odd sense of calm had settled around Castiel ever since he had sat in his bedroom, clutching desperately at the book Dean had intended to give him until his knuckles turned white. He had no idea if Dean would have still wanted him to have it, of course, given their earlier meeting.

But, even if Dean no longer cared for him, or never had. Even if he never wanted to see him again. Even then, Castiel realized, the gifts that Dean had given to Castiel were priceless and true. He’d opened his eyes, given him the choice of free will. And Castiel couldn’t ignore that now, he decided, not now that he knew. It was a soothing, calm realization.

He walked steadily with Hannah, back toward their apartments, neither of them saying a word. Castiel certainly didn’t mind the silence, and Hannah seemed to have decided that she preferred it to the conversations they could be having.

He felt sorry for her. But, he reasoned, if he left, she could report him as missing and the city would, eventually, assign her a new husband. One who would love her, he hoped.

It was what was best for her, too.

When they reached the door of Hannah’s apartment, Castiel smiled, and reached across to pull her into a tight hug. She made a surprised noise and watched him curiously as he released her.

“Goodbye, Hannah,” he said, smiling warmly.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Castiel,” she said, somewhat suspicious. “For the meeting with the baker, for the wedding cake?”

Castiel didn’t respond, walking the few steps across to his apartment. He smiled at her, regretfully, before pushing up his sleeve to scan into his home.

Methodically, he tidied and cleaned the area, made up the bed and put away his dishes; he wasn’t sure why, but he did. It felt right, a last nod to order and obedience.

From the closet in his bedroom he pulled out the decent-sized duffle bag that he packed whenever the Academy sent him away for training camps. He neatly packed clean shirts, pants and underwear, soap, toothpaste and shampoo. He went to the kitchen and took his supplies of meal supplements, the small pills used to substitute meals when out training, to simulate how one would likely eat on a ship if something went wrong, and tucked them into the side pocket. A knife from the kitchen, a blanket from the bed, and Dean’s book. He invaded Dean’s satchel once more, finding a heavy silver key that was likely the one to let them out of the city, early that morning. Realizing that the duffle was only half full, he folded down Dean’s bag and packed it within his own. With that, he was done.

He looked at it sadly, realizing that in twenty-two years, he hadn’t had enough free will to build a life distinct enough to even fill one duffle bag.

Perhaps he wouldn’t have long left, now. Perhaps his life as he knew it would be short. But he’d be free, and with absolute clarity, he now knew that mattered to him more than anything else; more than the walls of this apartment, or the goods within it.

He picked up his Academy data screen and looked down at it for a long moment. Unlocking the screen by tapping it to the barcode at his arm, he navigated his way slowly to the City registry, curiosity driving him more than good sense. _Castiel James Novak,_ he typed in. _Citizen 2008-IA B2676_. The tiny cursor on the screen spun for a moment, mocking him with a loading time that seemed entirely unnecessary. The screen cleared, and a black background with tiny white writing loaded, detailing everything about his life. Or everything the City considered public, at least, he sourly considered. He was sure there was plenty of information they didn’t let people see.

His full name, date of birth, blood type and barcode number dominated the top of the screen. Below it, they had a list of every address he’d ever occupied, a full family tree, and his entrance dates and graduating grades for every Academy class. There were other notes, dated; his height, weight and health grade from every time he’d visited a doctor, a narrative on the fact he’d had one back tooth removed as a teen when it wouldn’t grow straight, a record of his broken arm when Gabriel had convinced him he could fly at five years old. Then there was a list of the license dates of every ship he’d trained to fly, the dates of his first City title, then his second, and third. Near the bottom he saw some very recent additions.

 

_License Granted: Class 1 9.10 Interstellar Colonizer; GC-Full Compliment; Crew Capacity 300; Name – Nebesa. Commander Training Sign Off: General Naomi Grey._

 

It was dated the very day that Dean and Castiel had first seen each other, when Dean was being beaten for giving charity to Ben, Castiel realized. That, of course, was how Dean knew he was to Command the _Nebesa_ ; he may not have remembered off the top of his head where the knowledge came from, but he’d read it when he’d first researched Castiel, something that he’d admitted he’d done the first evening he’d been at Dean’s apartment. Castiel’s guilt and sorrow at the realization was soon swept away when he realized there was now a date next to his Commander training sign off.

It was to be in three days’ time.

Castiel locked the data screen calmly, before putting it down on his kitchen table and abandoning it. He had no desire to ever look at it again.

Zipping shut the duffle bag, he reached for his coat. Seeing that it was still dusty and brown, he shrugged, and slipped it onto his shoulders anyway. Running one hand through his wild, uncombable hair, he took one final look around.

He didn’t really think, until his feet were already moving down the street outside, that he wasn’t even sure where he was going. The way he’d left things with Dean, it felt rude to just turn up at his apartment, in the warrens below the market district. He wasn’t even sure he could find it, alone; Dean or Sam had always met him in the alleyway, the times he’d been there, to guide him through the deliberately confusing back-alleys and stairwells.

Castiel made his way through the market district. It seemed fruitless, as Dean would be in no humor to speak with him, he knew.

But he would wait. Just in case.

 

**~~***~~**

 

Hours later, night was falling. The bells up in the glass towers of the Council chambers at the center of the city rang out for curfew, but Castiel didn’t move.

If there was one thing over two decades of obedience had given Castiel, it was patience.

Weather within the city was controlled by the Council, systems of rain and heat and cold controlled by machines to ensure the validity of the crops in the outer circles, beyond the city itself. Today, of course, to match the mood, the air began filling with mist at sundown, and droplets of thick, chemically created water spat down onto Castiel as he stood, leaning against the red brick wall opposite Ben’s window. At one point a dark-haired woman, petite and with curious, brown eyes, had peered out of that window, looking down at him. Castiel thought that perhaps it was the woman Dean had mentioned, Lisa, Ben’s mom; but he didn’t know her, and she didn’t open the window to change that.

He thought he saw a movement in the shadows further down the alleyway, the spot from where Sam had arrived, the first night they’d met. But nobody came.

When the glowing digits of his watch showed another hour had passed, Castiel sighed to himself, and gave up.

He’d wanted to talk to Dean, to clear the air; to apologize, and thank him, and make clear the intentions neither had ever had time to clarify. To find out the truth, and then decide if he cared. But he had to respect that Dean didn’t want that. So, Castiel peeled away from the wall, and began to make his way through the city.

He worried, briefly as he walked, if the Controller from earlier had caught up with Dean. If he was laying somewhere, injured or worse, and no one knew. Or more horrifying, if he was below the Council chambers, unrecorded, in a cell he’d never return from, or in a corral with so many others, waiting for the next colonization ship— _No_ , Castiel corrected, _war ship_ —to leave the City.

With a sinking feeling, he realized that the next ship would probably be the _Nebesa_.

His jaw set stubbornly, Castiel promised himself that if the _Nebesa_ left Glass City’s port, it would not be under the City’s control.

He made his way through the dark, keeping his footsteps quiet and sheltering himself as best he could behind panes of unsympathetic glass when he heard Controller patrols nearby. The journey to the infirmary didn’t take long, in the center of the city as it was, next to the Council chambers and the Academy.

Several times, Castiel thought he heard footsteps, or a flash of white; but no one was there. It only added to his urgency.

Looping around the back of the clock tower, he reached the wooden door that he and Dean had stood next to only that same morning.

It seemed like an age ago, already.

Unsure, Castiel knocked. He didn’t know if the Grigori that Dean had said helped the Unassigned, Tamiel, would be able to hear or would respond to something as simple as a knock, but he had to try. If all else failed, Castiel thought, he’d smash at the door till it fell down and his fists were bloody. One way or another, he was getting out of this city.

He needed space to think, time to work out what to do with his life. The peace he’d briefly experienced out beyond the walls of glass seemed like a good place to start, at least.

He raised his fist to knock again, but never made it.

With the simple buzz of a taser from behind, Castiel slumped soundlessly to the floor.

 

**~~***~~**

 

“Ahh, good evening, Castiel,” Zachariah said, his tone soft and polite enough to sound incredibly offensive.

Castiel blinked a few times, his head roaring and his neck muscles clenched tight. Ouch. A quick examination of his surroundings told him that he was in a richly furnished office, with cherry wood paneling and a heavy, leather-topped desk. Scattered around the room on ornate side-tables and shelves there were ancient, biblical paintings and white marble statues of, of all things, angels. Several weighty chairs with ornately carved arms faced the desk, and Castiel was handcuffed to one of them.

“Potentate Zachariah,” Castiel forced out as he tugged against the handcuffs, his mouth dry. “What is going on? Why am I here?”

“Lots of questions, I see. For now, it’s probably better that you listen.” Zachariah, a tanned, balding, middle-aged man with beady eyes and an exquisitely fitted white suit, sat behind the desk with his fingers linked on the leather top, smiling sickeningly at Castiel.

Castiel stared back at him, realizing quickly that he had no option.

“I’ve received word, shall we say, that you’ve been fraternizing with a very… inappropriate group of people. People who, really, aren’t even people.”

Castiel recoiled deep inside at the vileness of such a notion, but he struggled not to let it show on his face, as he had a hunch it wouldn’t help him.

“So it seemed that perhaps it would be a good idea to bring you here so that we could…” Zachariah gestured to the chair, smiling again in a hideously false way that didn’t reach his eyes. “...have a chat.”

“A chat,” Castiel repeated dully.

“Quite!” The Potentate continued smiling, steepling his fingers at his chest as he leaned back in his chair. “Now, Castiel. I’m sure you’re aware of how much the City has invested in you over the years. You’re one of our best and brightest young men, Castiel!”

Only weeks back, Castiel would have been so proud to hear it. Now, it felt shameful. He remained silent.

“Top of your class in almost everything; not a blemish on your record. A great family; good blood. You impressed every single one of your instructors at the Academy, you know. The Council have had their eye on you a long time, as you are aware, being Charles’ youngest son. You’re almost guaranteed a seat among us, one day, after your illustrious field career, of course. Something distinguished, like your siblings.”

Castiel felt sick.

“That is of course, if you take the time to stop now, and recall the order of things.”

“The order of things, sir?” Castiel could feel a gnawing pit opening in his stomach, and there was nothing he could do to soothe it. The handcuffs at his wrists dug in painfully tight, his pinkie and ring fingers tingling as their blood flow was subtly restricted.

“The true order of things. Those who deserve, above those who do not.”

 _Everyone deserves,_ Castiel thought viciously, though he was wise enough to bite his tongue.

“Better blood above lesser blood,” Zachariah continued, pushing up out of his chair so that he could stroll around the desk, hands behind his back. “Quite simply, good, law abiding, obedient people, above misfits and bad blood. It’s what keeps society turning, Castiel. I’m sure you see that; you’ve certainly benefited from it.”

Castiel forced out a nod, though he suspected his horror showed in his eyes no matter what he did.

“So, back to your association with the rebels.”

Castiel’s eyes twitched immediately to the desk as the Potentate opened a drawer. He stayed standing as he slapped a file down on the surface, opening it, the contents splaying out haphazardly. There were sheets of paper, notations, dates, all kind of information. And photographs; plenty of them, taken at poor angles from illicit cameras. Dean, Sam, Benny. Eileen, Jo, Andrea. A bearded, middle-aged man than Castiel didn’t recognize, in a picture with Dean. The fierce blond lady who owned the Roadhouse. The man with the mullet who DJ’d for the club, Ben and the brunette woman who Castiel was almost certain was his mother. So many of the faces splayed out on the desktop were familiar. There were more, plenty more, who weren’t, but who Castiel knew without question were just as innocent as the rest. Just as righteous, just as deserving of free will.

“We don’t want any more of this, Castiel. The Council and I, we recognize that you may have been misled, or coerced, into thinking things that aren’t quite kosher, you see. Things that don’t fit the proper order.”

Castiel didn’t speak. It seemed that this conversation, such as it was, required little input from him at all.

“So, of course, we have decided to help you.”

“Help me?”

“Yes! We don’t want you to struggle any longer, my boy. We want you to thrive! To go forth and fulfill your destiny in the Glass City! You are intended for great things, Castiel, so we have been taking steps to accelerate them.”

Hot panic began to surge deep in Castiel’s chest, making breathing difficult. “Accelerate?” he choked out.

“You were scheduled to be called in for training very soon, but we have recently accelerated it to be done within the next few days. General Naomi would like to see you as soon as possible.”

This wasn’t news; Castiel had spotted the accelerated schedule on the registry. If Zachariah intended him to go through training in three days’ time, perhaps he still had time to—

“Obviously, we want to ensure you are well cared for until such a time as your training begins,” Zachariah simpered. “So, to that end, Naomi and I have assigned a special team to stay with you, until the training chamber and Naomi are ready.”

_No, no…_

“The team will escort you should you have any wish to leave your home, though I’m sure you’ll have plenty of last minute studying to occupy your time, hmm?” Zachariah grinned manically. “They’ll check on you twice an hour, whenever you’re home. The interruption to your sleeping schedule to check in with them is, I admit, somewhat regrettable, but it can’t be helped. It is, after all, only for three days.”

House arrest. He was being put under house arrest until he would be dragged, kicking and screaming most likely, to Naomi.

“Do you have any questions, Castiel?” Zachariah asked, such a balance of belligerent and polite that Castiel had absolutely no doubt that the man thoroughly believed his own bullshit.

“No, sir,” Castiel said, an eerie calm settling back around him.

“Good, good! Excellent. Now, the team aren’t quite ready to take you back home yet, so I do hope you won’t mind if we find somewhere comfortable for you downstairs until they’ve been briefed and prepared.”

 _Downstairs,_ Castiel thought dully. _In the jail._

He nodded slowly, unable to do much else.

 


	6. Chapter 6

The drippy, damp quiet of the jail cell cocooned Castiel in a peace he was actually somewhat grateful for. The past twelve hours since he’d returned from beyond the city with Dean had gone so fast his head was spinning. Once his “team”—as Zachariah had referred to them—were ready, he was to be transferred to his own home. To keep up appearances, he assumed.

In the silence, he looked around. The dark stone was uninviting. The cell was entirely empty save for the bench on which he sat, not even a bucket in which to relieve himself, or throw up in, which seemed more likely at that moment. The space was illuminated by a series of flickering bulbs out in the corridor. He could see other cells like his, but they were all empty. At the end of the corridor was a heavy, barred door that Castiel suspected led down to the jail proper; the door at the other end seemed normal, a wooden, decorative affair like everything else in the council chambers.

He had nothing to do but wait. Castiel found himself wishing very much that he had Dean’s book with him; no doubt _The Sirens of Titan_ would be been an entertaining way to pass the time. He felt a genuine sorrow that he’d now probably never get to read it, even if somehow it hadn’t been destroyed.

The silence didn’t last much longer. With a crash, the door that came from the rest of the Council chambers swung open, and a man burst through it, practically sprinting and shattering the quiet with a loud, familiar voice.

“Castiel!” Gabriel crashed up against the bars of the holding cell, looking like he’d be through it in a second if only he had the key, or was a few inches wider and taller. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be—what happened? Where’s Dean?”

Castiel tried to sort out which part of his confusion required the most attention, but really it was a jumble. “Huh?”

“Dad gave a million credits a year to send you to the Academy for ‘huh’?”

“Gabriel. Talk,” Cas ground out, in no humor for his brother’s sass.

“I saw your name on the intake roll for the holding cells! Why are you here, Cassie? Something went wrong. You’re supposed to be on your way to the _Nebesa_ with Dean already.”

“What?” Castiel suddenly found himself more paranoid than he’d ever been, his eyes swiveling around wildly and his voice dropping low. “Is it even safe to—"

“I turned the camera off dummy—talk to me! The ship, Cassie, the fucking ship! You and the Righteous Man are supposed to be in the wind, being… righteous!! Waiting for me to smuggle out the rest of the Unassigned! Why are you in a jail cell, and where the hell is DEAN!”

Castiel blinked slowly, suddenly developing even more questions than he’d had a minute before. “You… You’re a judge,” is what he eventually managed.

“And you’re clearly the genius Mom and Dad deserved.” Gabriel rolled his eyes, looking back and forth up the corridor, checking for Zachariah’s guards. “Dean and I don’t have a lot in common, kiddo. But the one middle ground we stand on is that we both care a lot about you. I told him that if he could persuade you to get the _Nebesa_ , I could get the launch authorized.”

“What? How?”

“Charlie, you dumbass—come on Cassie, work with me here! Have you paid attention to anything at all, the past few weeks?”

“I—I feel like I’m missing a few things.”

“No doubt!” Gabriel looked pale and frustrated. He reached through the bars of the cell so that he could grasp his brothers shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Castiel. Really. I had no intention to get you tangled up in any of this, but then when you went and got yourself entwined with the Winchesters, it seemed like the only way—”

“I don’t understand,” Castiel interrupted, reaching up to wrap his hand around Gabriel’s wrist in a grounding motion as his brother squeezed at his shoulder. “How do you know Dean? What does Charlie have to do with this?”

“Once I realized you and Dean had...” Gabriel paused awkwardly, which Castiel wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced before in his life. “That you and Dean had become friends,” Gabriel continued, “I knew that you were aware of the Unassigned. That you knew what really goes on, out there. I’ve been trying, for years…” Gabriel paused, breathing hard and stumbling over his words as he tried to explain. “I’m not who you think I am, Cassie, or rather I am but that’s not all I am, you get me?”

Castiel blinked. “No, not at all.”

“Right. Well, Kali, you see, she knew…” Gabriel let go of Castiel’s shoulder, reaching up to run a hand through his longish blonde hair in frustration. “Damnit, we don’t have time for this. I’ve been assisting the Unassigned rebellion. Well, technically leading it, I suppose. From here, without anyone knowing. We were going to get a ship, any would have done, but when you met Dean I figured—”

“You thought the _Nebesa_ was the way to go,” Castiel filled in, nodding slowly. “It was you that told Dean the _Nebesa_ could make it to Earth.”

“Yes,” Gabriel said, guiltily. “Actually, I sold it to him that if he took you to Earth, he could save you from Naomi. He was pretty on board once I pointed that out.”

“I thought he—I thought that was all he wanted, all along. The ship.”

“Ahh.” Gabriel nodded, understanding, his expression still regretful. “Well. Other way round, it turns out. My bad, I suppose.”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this, Gabe? Why didn’t you trust me?”

Gabriel gave a little grimace. “Well, I mean, you were always such a good boy, Cassie. I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”

Pausing to look up and down the corridor again, Castiel put aside his million other questions. “What about Charlie? Is she—”

“She’s fine,” Gabriel said. “She’s below, right now, in the jail. Balthazar turned her in, which did put a little hitch in plans, but I’m working on it. She’s going to hack the nav panel when the _Nebesa_ launches—If it launches. You’d be out of the solar system entirely before they even knew you were gone, if you’re willing.”

“So…” Castiel felt very wobbly. “You’re seriously saying that you want me to command a ship full of Unassigned, and… What? Escape? Take them to Earth?”

Gabriel nodded. “Don’t you think they deserve that, Castiel? A chance at a better life, away from here?”

“And you?”

“I’ll stay here as long as I’m undiscovered. I can do more good here.”

Castiel nodded slowly, letting his new reality settle around him bit by bit. “Can you get me out?”

Gabriel shook his head, regretful. “I’m going to try and work on something. But for now, no, I can’t. Not without blowing my cover. They’re going to take you home, I gather, so I’ve got three days left to… to think of something.”

If Gabriel’s voice cracked a little, if Castiel’s face fell a little, they didn’t mention it.

“Okay.” The strange sense of calm that kept descending over Castiel was back. “Thank you for finally telling me the truth. The next time you’re planning a rebellion I’m instrumental in, though, please tell me first.”

Gabriel blinked his golden eyes, then grinned, a small laugh escaping him. “You’re quite something, Castiel. Really. And I am sorry. I honestly am.”

“Can you get a message to Dean?”

“I can try, though its more up to him if I see him than the other way around.”

“Just… tell him I’m sorry. There was a misunderstanding, and I don’t know if I’ll get to tell him that now.”

Gabriel nodded, stepping away from the jail cell. “I’ll do my best. I’m supposed to sign off on your release forms, as judge on duty. The patrol that’s been assigned to you should be here any minute, so I have to go. I—” Gabriel looked so very guilty, and it was an expression Castiel felt deeply uncomfortable seeing on his brother’s face. “—I’m so sorry. For everything.”

“It’s not your fault,” Castiel pointed out, managing a small smile. “It was no one’s fault but my own that I met Dean, or that I did any of the things I did after that.”

Gabriel nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. “I better go. Try and look suitably contrite—you know how the Controllers can be,” he warned.

Castiel certainly did, remembering Dean, beaten in the market alley. “I will. Go, before they see you’re gone from upstairs.”

As Gabriel made his way back up the stairs beyond the Council chamber door, Castiel slumped back down onto his bench, slightly dazed.

So many things made sense now, but at the same time, many more did not.

Of all the things he could think of, all the new information, all the new concerns, Castiel chose to think about Dean.

He closed his eyes and rested his head back on the stone wall, thinking how sorry he was that he may never get to tell Dean that no matter how it had ended, meeting him had been worth it.

                                                             

**~~***~~**

 

Castiel stumbled, pushed forward by the blunt tip of a gun. It was behind him, so he couldn’t see what kind, but he’d studied enough of the Glass City’s military weaponry at the Academy to know that none of his options were particularly good.

“Left,” one of the Controllers barked, nudging Castiel below his ribcage.

“I’m quite well aware of how to get to my own apartment,” he said, little more than a growl. He was tired, and achy from the chill, damp air of the jail cell he’d spent several hours in after Gabriel had departed.

His words were met with a sharp cuff around the side of his head, shooting stars across his vision.

“No one asked you to speak, Novak.”

Castiel had a sneaking suspicion, from the way the guards kept saying his last name, that some of them were more than a little pleased to have such “good blood” in custody and were definitely treating him a lot more roughly than Zachariah had instructed.

But he couldn’t do anything about it. The idea of complaining about military brutality in a totalitarian state was amusing at best.

Smirking at his own thoughts, Castiel thought that Sam would be quite proud of him.

“Knock that smirk off your face, Novak.”

More stars danced before his eyes. The few streets left between here and his apartment were going to be a bit dicey, he realized, as odd spells of dizziness kept washing over him. If he said he had a concussion, he somehow doubted they’d let him sit down, so he gritted his teeth and walked onward.

Hustled unceremoniously into his apartment building, Castiel slumped down at the kitchen table for a moment, before deciding that he should at least shower before the patrol came back to check on him.

The warm water did little to soothe him. He was worried that if the City had found him, they may also have found Dean. Or his brother. Or any of his friends. He realized that now he was to be kept under house arrest until his appointment with Naomi, he was unlikely to get to see any of them again. Worse to think of was the fact that after his appointment with Naomi, he wouldn’t _want_ to see Dean any more. Or any of them.

Still tired, though at least clean from the damp, sweaty grime of the jail cell, Castiel went to answer the loud thumps at his front door that signified the first check-in by his guards. He opened the door, and as soon as they saw his face and affirmed he was still inside, slammed it again.

“Like they couldn’t just put a tracker on me or something,” he grumbled under his breath, though he knew, as did they, that he’d have just found a way to remove it.

He didn’t bother trying to sleep, knowing he’d be woken every half hour, so he stretched out on his couch instead, dozing fitfully between the interruptions.

And so it had been, for about six or seven hours, when he shuffled to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. He’d just shut the door in the face of Zachariah’s guards, yet again. They didn’t even speak now, just nodding at him and moving away, to patrol the outside of the building until it was time to bother him again.

Filling his glass, Castiel heard a sharp knock at his door once more.

Frowning, he lowered the water to his marble kitchen counter, slowly making his way back to the door he’d only just closed. Surely they wouldn’t be back already?

The frantic tapping grew a little louder. Cautiously, Castiel moved to stand in the hallway.

“Hello?” he called, quietly. He wondered if it might be Hannah, though why she’d want to stop by in the middle of the night after his repeated rejections, he didn’t have a clue.

“Cas, it’s me,” Dean’s voice hissed quietly through the closed door. “Please, let me in before the patrols come back around. At least let’s talk, please—”

Castiel had the door open before Dean had finished speaking, grabbing him swiftly by the wrist and yanking him through the doorway.

“Dean!” Castiel was embarrassed to realize that there were tears of relief on his cheeks; relief that Dean was okay, that he’d come to find him, that he wanted to talk, that things might be okay.

Dean turned as Castiel closed the door behind him, standing with his back to it, and immediately, without question, reached forward to pull Castiel to his chest. He wrapped his arms up around his back, tucking his head into his neck, and nestled his face down next to Castiel’s damp cheek, shushing and soothing him gently, his hands gliding up and down his spine.

“Hey, hey,” Dean said softly. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

Raising one finger to his lips silently, Castiel stepped away from Dean just long enough to turn on the taps in the kitchen full blast; just enough noise to disrupt their words to anyone who might be listening. He didn’t even trust his own home anymore.

Dean nodded approvingly, and reached to pull Castiel back in again the moment he was done, whispering against his temple, “I’ve got you, Cas. I’ve got you.”

“How?” Castiel reached up, rubbing angrily at his eyes, refusing to cry like an idiot now, of all times. “Everything is—”

“Everything will be okay,” Dean repeated quietly, squeezing Castiel tighter. “I promised. Didn’t I promise that I wouldn’t let them do that to you? That I wouldn’t let Naomi treat you, that it’d be okay?” Dean reached down, cupping at Castiel’s face and lifting his jaw, forcing him to look at him.

Castiel nodded jerkily. “Yes, you did. But then I—I’m so sorry, I jumped to conclusions and—”

Dean nodded, giving an unhappy grimace. “Yeah, and that sucked, not gonna lie. But I’m not going to let Naomi brainwash you just because I’m mad at you.”

“I’m so, so sorry. I came back here, and I found the Vonnegut you wanted me to read, and I checked the registry and I saw that it listed the _Nebesa_ there, and then Gabriel—”

“Cas.” Dean pressed his forehead up to Castiel’s, his hands still at his jaw, and his eyes drifted shut for a moment. “There’s a lot you don’t know, and I can’t explain it all right now because we have to get you out of here, and that is more important than anything else could be, right now. But please, please believe me that no matter what, or why, or how it started, the connection I feel with you was _always_ real, from the first second.”

Castiel sniffed, dashing the last of the tears from his cheeks in embarrassment.

“From the very first time I saw you in that stupid alleyway with that stupid Controller’s boot on my face,” Dean said, “I couldn’t take my eyes off you. And then you turned out to be kind, and brave, and stubborn, and sassy.”

Dean opened his eyes again, and he smiled, looking regretful.

“I’m going to tell you honestly,” he said, “when Zachariah’s personal guard captured you, I thought you would betray me. It took me a few hours and a visit from your brother to realize that you hadn’t. I thought, given that you were under the impression I only liked you for your ship, that you would have no qualms about turning me in.”

Castiel blinked. “Dean, I would never have—”

“I know now. And I’m sorry. I just wanted to be honest.”

“Okay.” Castiel nodded. “How did you know Zachariah had taken me, anyway? Did my brother tell you?”

“No. Sam saw you waiting in the alleyway, earlier tonight. He wasn’t sure whether to tell me or not; I was pretty upset, when I came back from beyond the wall with you. But luckily, he decided to tell me anyway, and I followed you to the clock tower.”

“I should have given you time to explain.”

“I should have explained before you had any reason to doubt me.”

They both just looked at each other then, Dean’s green eyes boring deep into Castiel as they stared. It was familiar, but somehow stripped raw and new, and neither seemed to know how to look away.

“Can I kiss you?” Dean asked quietly after a moment, weighty and direct.

“Please.”

“Tell me that you want this, Cas. That you understand that being with me will destroy your life and everything you knew, but that you want it anyway. I don’t know where you want to go from here, but if it involves you staying in the City at all, then you know they’ll kill you, Cas. For this.”

“I know. I don’t care.”

Dean’s hands slid up Castiel’s arms to the back of his neck. He smiled, nudging their faces together and rubbing his nose against Castiel’s in a silly, cute little gesture that forced a childish giggle from them both. Dean kissed him firmly then, holding Castiel up against him tight like he was staking a claim with his mouth. Castiel reciprocated with just as much intensity, bruising his lips into Dean as if they could somehow stay joined if he tried hard enough, and nothing and no one would be able to part them.

Coming up for breath, Castiel could feel his cheeks aching from the width of his smile. “How am I so happy? I’m due to have half my personality erased in a couple of days, and that’s if they don’t just kill me. I shouldn’t be this happy.”

Dean grinned back against him. “Yeah, that’s kinda dumb, Cas.”

“I should be miserable, obviously.”

“Utterly hopeless. You should be concentrating on how unlikely it is either of us will make it through the week,” Dean agreed.

“Definitely. I shouldn’t be focusing on how amazing it feels to kiss you, and just to be able to see you again.”

“Nope,” Dean said solemnly, gently carding his fingers through Castiel’s hair, refusing to let him go just yet. “That would be a stupid thing to focus on.”

“You’re right. I definitely shouldn’t admit that, as crazy as it is, I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Dean’s blazing green eyes met Castiel’s from above his peaked, grinning cheeks. “Yeah, that would be really insane.”

Lost in Dean's eyes, Castiel could only laugh and nod.

Their laughter slowly trailed off, and Dean pulled Castiel in for another, slower kiss. “The insane, on occasion, are not without their charms,” he said between the presses of their lips.

“Do you have any lines that aren’t quotes?”

“How about ‘I love you’?” Dean grinned, his face flushed, his eyes sparkling in the light that spilled from the kitchen.

“That’s got to be a quote from something,” Castiel argued, smirking, jesting softly to cover up the way his heart was hammering in his chest and setting off his nervous system into near-spasms of joy.

 _He loves me. Dean loves me… he loves me_.

Peeling his shoulders away from the door, Dean sighed, though the sound was somewhat spoiled by his happy smile. “As poor as the timing of all this is, and as much as I’d love to stand here and make out with you, we probably only have about twenty minutes before your guards come back.”

Castiel nodded, still reeling too happily from Dean saying that he loved him to be quite as angry about that as he should. “You’re correct, unfortunately.”

“What do you want to do, Cas?” Dean asked, releasing Castiel from his arms somewhat reluctantly, so he held only his hands. “This is your life, and your choice. Where do you want to go from here?”

Castiel didn’t need more than a minute to think about it. “Firstly, I want to get out of here. I’d rather risk being caught and killed than have Naomi ‘fix’ me,” he confirmed, his shoulders stiffening as reality settled back around them.

Dean nodded. “I get it. Though for what it’s worth, I prefer you alive.” He winked, then took a pause to look around the apartment. “I can take you back to the warrens with me, Cas,” he offered, something almost shy about his tone, “but there’s nothing like this fancy place there. You might think this apartment is simple, but it’s a hundred times nicer than what I can offer you if you come with me.”

“You’re offering me freedom, Dean. A chance to live, and a chance to be with you. That’s priceless,” Castiel affirmed, surprised and a little disappointed that Dean even needed to hear it. “I hope you don’t think the way you live would matter.”

Dean shrugged. “It is what it is. I was more afraid that you’d balk at coming to live with me, when we’ve only known each other a couple of months, and we haven’t even…” Dean smirked. “Well, you know. You could always stay in the living room, or we’ll find you a place.”

“Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary,” Castiel grinned, stepping back up into Dean’s space for a moment as he reached to grip the door handle behind him, allowing his voice to slip down lower, and affecting the same flirtatious grin that Dean so often wore. “Do you?”

Dean’s response was a satisfyingly surprised gasp that reassured Castiel that Dean wouldn’t _always_ have the upper hand. He could feel Dean’s held breath filling his lungs as he pressed up against him, the moment heating between them. Dean grinned wolfishly, clearly delighted, before nudging forward to kiss Castiel once more, deep and hungry, but quickly.

“Come on then, lover,” Dean said, keeping his devilish grin. “Let’s get you out of here.”

 

**~~***~~**

 

The Warrens, late at night, definitely weren’t the ideal place to be as an outsider. Castiel had never traveled any deeper than the red-brick alleyway without Dean; he’d always had his protection, the subtle idea that Dean was “one of us”, therefore Castiel must be okay. But he didn’t miss the twitching curtains, the side-eyes as they passed people on the stairwells, the blatant stares as they traveled further in, and further down. The Warrens were dirty, the hewn stone impossible to keep clean in the dark. There was a permeating smell of damp, and the patches of mold and moss that regularly appeared underfoot squeaked in the dark. The light was often patchy; electricity here, gas there, nothing but flame for the poorest. And even the richest here were terribly poor.

Dean had explained to Castiel, late one night in his apartment, how the Unassigned had their own kind of economy; they couldn’t use credits here, only barter, bribe, or promise. Drinks were free at the Roadhouse, for example, but the owners never went without food, or supplies, or hands to help. Everyone chipped in, because that’s the way it was. All they had was each other. Once you were in, you were in for life. But getting into that inner circle… that could be tricky.

Castiel intended to ask Benny how long it had been before the Unassigned trusted him, and what he’d had to do to gain their trust, because Castiel fully intended to. These were Dean’s people; and Castiel, early as it was for them, intended to be part of Dean’s life.

In the early hours of the morning, he and Dean walked quietly, hand in hand, through the dim alleyways underground. It was strange to be able to be so open here, fingers entwined as they quietly strolled, in no hurry once out of the main city. They’d timed their exit carefully, Dean having already spent a couple of hours carefully studying the guards patrol pattern. When they’d left Castiel’s apartment, they hadn’t even walked very close together; not a single clue that might draw the eyes of someone who may get it in their head to call the Controllers to report the abominations. Down here, no one cared. Unassigned were Unassigned, as Dean put it; who cared whose genitals bumped, when your very existence was against the law.

Castiel found it refreshing, and Dean’s obvious affection as they neared his apartment seemed to be endearing people to him. A skinny little man in a short, hooded jacket and pajama pants stood in his doorway, and he nodded to them, raising his cup-of-something in the air with a smile.

Dean leaned to his side, whispering to Castiel as they carried on, “That’s Chuck, the prophet. I should introduce you one day, see what he has to say about you.”

Castiel grinned, raising an eyebrow. “Would you put much stock in what he said about me?”

“Depends,” Dean winked. “If he told me I should be a rude host and rather than have you sit with Sam and Eileen, I should whisk you away to bed, well… I might listen.”

“Oh, really?” Castiel smirked as Dean pushed open the wooden door that led from the rocky corridor to the Winchesters apartment. “You seem quite convinced I’ll come willingly.”

“Oh, you’ll come,” Dean’s voice dipped deliberately. “I’ll see to that.”

“Do I even want to know what prompted that comment?” Sam said, sat on one of the crates around the fire, Eileen’s head in his lap as he read. He looked up, grinning at his brother as Castiel closed the door behind them.

Eileen sat up immediately, and both she and Sam rushed across the floor to crush Castiel with unexpected hugs.

He felt himself flushing as Sam squashed him in an embrace, muttering close to Castiel’s ear, “This is the part where you hug back, Cas.”

Castiel laughed. “I wasn’t aware we were on hugging terms, after the past couple of days.”

Sam released him, allowing Eileen her turn, but still gave him a measured look. “Well, we thought Zachariah was going to kill you, so you get a pass. But send my big brother home crying again and I’ll set Benny on you. He’s a biter.”

“I was not crying,” Dean protested from behind Cas, pushing him a little further into the room so that he could move.

“Hmm, okay, Dean,” Eileen agreed, patting him on the arm in a conciliatory manner. As soon as Dean had moved past her, she turned back to Cas and mouthed obviously, “Like a baby.”

“I don’t cry.” Dean bristled. “Winchesters have a one-tear-per-year limit.”

“That’s some debt you’ve worked up then, Dean.” Sam smiled sweetly.

“Shut your face.”

Eileen hustled Castiel into the room while the brothers bickered, taking his trench coat and hanging it on a simple iron hook near the fire. When she was done she turned back, resting her hand on Castiel’s arm, looking up at him, concerned. “Really, are you alright, Cas? What happened?”

“I’m fine, thank you. Sat in a jail cell for a few hours, threatened here and there. Zachariah and Naomi planned to move my treatment up to a couple of days from now and make me submit to it against my will. Not that I ever had a choice in the first place, I don’t think. The Potentate had me put under house arrest, and for a while I—well, I didn’t think I’d get to see any of you again. Instead, now, I guess it’s the other half of the city I’ll never be able to see again.”

“I’m sorry, dude,” Sam offered quietly.

Castiel wasn’t aware that Sam and Dean had finished talking, or that everyone was listening to him, until Sam spoke up. He felt his cheeks coloring at the attention, but nonetheless he turned so he was facing them all.

“Thank you. All of you. For allowing me into your home, and… everything. You saved me, really. So, thank you.”

For a moment all three just looked at him, before with almost eerie synchronicity they placed mocking hands on their chests and made over-the-top "aww" noises. They laughed, and there was an awkward group hug situation. For the first time since he was a small boy, Castiel suddenly felt included, and wanted, and his company actually valued. He felt like he belonged.

Dean must have noticed him beginning to tear up and taken pity on him, because he threaded his hand into Castiel’s and tugged him away with a cheeky grin.

“Well, I’m glad you guys are happy he’s here and all, but him and me have got some serious making up to do.”

“Making out, you mean,” Sam said dryly. “Thank God for stone walls.”

Dean pulled Castiel through the door at the far end of the room, which led to the small interior corridor of the apartment. Castiel had never been here before, his previous visits to the Winchesters’ home only encompassing the living room, near the fire, for long nights of talking and drinking.

They didn’t talk as Dean led him past a few rooms, to the one furthest at the end. He pushed open the door, turning to grin at Castiel as he ducked his head, dramatically bowing. “Welcome to your new home, Cas. As much as you want it to be, at least.”

Castiel stepped inside silently, his eyes wide as he looked around the small, stone chamber. The walls had been chiseled smooth, and Dean had placed on them many large, paper pictures. Scenes of rolling hills and trees, beautiful blue skies with fluffy white clouds, and meandering rivers.

 

 

 

 

“Wow, Dean…” Castiel walked up to them, unable to resist trailing his fingers along the smooth stone between them, though he avoided touching the papers themselves. He suspected that they were very old, much like the book Dean had given him. “Is this Earth?” he asked quietly, marveling at the beauty they portrayed.

“Yeah,” Dean said solemnly. “Or so Bobby and Chuck say, anyway, and they’re a damn sight smarter than I am.”

“It’s beautiful… I’m sorry if I’ve spoiled your chance to get there, Dean,” Castiel said, quietly. “By running away before the plan was complete.”

He turned to face Dean, who had moved to sit on the simple bed that occupied the middle of the room, and walked up to him, turning to lower himself down to the edge of the mattress, sat thigh to thigh.

“I have a feeling it meant a lot to you,” he added.

Dean gave a lazy grin and shrugged. “Maybe there’s another way. It’s okay, Cas. I’d rather have you.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Dean said, sliding his hand behind Castiel’s back and tugging him in to his side. He leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to Castiel’s cheek. “It’s late, but we’ve still got a few hours until dawn. I bet you didn’t sleep while those guards were checking on you.”

“It was pretty much impossible to,” Castiel admitted.

“Come on then,” Dean said, standing and stretching his arms above his head, producing a cacophony of cracking noises that made Castiel cringe. “Let’s get some sleep, huh? I hope you don’t snore.”

Castiel chuckled but didn’t have the words to respond; his throat suddenly dried out as Dean pulled the hem of his shirt up over his head. He revealed what seemed like acres of soft muscle, very lightly tanned and dusted with freckles that Castiel desperately wanted to reach out and trace with his fingers. He swallowed, hard, and forced himself to stand and walk around to the other side of the bed.   

He shook off his own shirt and left it in a pool on the floor. When he turned to get into the bed, he noticed Dean watching him with a starved expression that seemed quite familiar.

Slipping under the thin sheet, Castiel flushed and forced words from his mouth. “Dean, I have absolutely no reference point for homosexual interactions.”

Dean kept a straight face for a couple of seconds, before crumpling and burying his loud, cackling laugh into the pillow. “Cas,” he gasped after a minute, grinning and pulling back the covers to encourage Castiel into the bed, “have I told you that I adore how blunt you are? It’s hilarious.”

Castiel blinked. “Well, I—uh, no one has ever liked it, before.”

“Well I do,” Dean said, still grinning. “Come here. Snuggle up, go to sleep. I think I can control myself from jumping on you for one night. I make no promises about tomorrow, though.”

As Castiel lay back onto the pillows, Dean reached across and tucked the sheet up around him, sliding up to Castiel’s side and laying one arm gently across his waist. Their faces were only a few inches apart. It was intimate and private in the dim light, and nothing felt more natural for Castiel than to tilt his face forward, pressing his lips softly to Dean’s.

Dean’s arm tightened around his waist, and he lifted his arms to embrace Dean in turn. They tangled together sleepily, and for the first time in weeks, Castiel drifted into a relaxed, content slumber.

                                                         

**~~***~~**

 

The sun didn’t rise underground, but sounds woke Castiel at a time his watch told him was just nearing dawn. He heard a door creak down the hall, which he guessed must be Sam or Eileen headed to the bathroom. Relaxing again, Castiel snuggled back down into the pillow. Dean was a warm, firm weight behind him, curled around him with one arm thrown over Castiel’s bare stomach. Their feet were tangled together, and Dean’s breath puffed softly onto the back of his neck at sleepily paced intervals.

Disturbed from his sleep by Castiel’s small movement, Dean nuzzled into the back of his shoulder. “Mornin’, sunshine,” he mumbled, pulling Castiel in tight against him, half asleep.

Castiel felt a warm rush through his chest. He’d never woken up with someone before, never slept in someone’s arms like this. He liked it, he decided. He snuggled back into Dean, content and warm. Castiel froze as the slight movement pushed Dean’s groin against his ass, poking the solid, obvious length of his morning wood against the top of Castiel’s thigh.

Castiel bit his lip, swallowing down a small exclamation. His own half-erect cock stiffened noticeably between his legs at the sensation of Dean being pressed up against him. A feeling of _want_ like Castiel had never before been brave enough to face—outside of his own room—surged swiftly through his belly; he wanted this man, and not just his strong arms and hot, slippery kisses. He wanted Dean in the most carnal, intimate of ways, he wanted to roll over and brace his body above him, consume him with—

Dean stretched, his back cracking as he shifted away. “Bathroom,” he said, groggy with sleep. “I’ll be right back.”

Castiel took a deep, slow breath against the pillow. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll go after.”

Only a few minutes later, Dean ambled back into the room, still looking sleepy. He slipped back under the covers, tugging Castiel back for an affectionate nuzzle at his neck, pressing his lips behind his ear before letting him go. “Bathroom is the door on the left,” he explained, before laying back on the pillow.

Shuffling to the edge of the mattress, Castiel looked back over his shoulder at Dean. He lay on his back in the middle of the pillows, relaxed and smiling.

“What?” Dean asked, gazing back up at him.

“You’re very open and affectionate when you just woke up,” Castiel said. “I didn’t expect that, really.”

Dean laughed, rolling into his side. “Yeah, it’s my biggest secret. I’m a stealth snuggler. Pull you in with the macho, cocky, bad-boy image and then, bam! I’m all over you like—I dunno, somethin’ fuzzy and cute. It’s too early, I hate mornings. Hurry up and come back to cuddle me, Cas. Do your duty.”

“Demanding, too,” Castiel said, laughing as he pushed up to head to the bathroom.

“Yup. I’m a pouty little bitch in the mornings. There’s a spare toothbrush under the sink.”

Castiel ran into Sam in the hallway, with a mug in each hand.

“Morning, Cas.” Sam winked at him. “No need to get up for a couple hours, really. I’m just taking Eileen some tea in bed.”

“You’re a good husband,” Castiel noted, smiling.

“I try.” Sam shrugged. “There’s coffee in the kitchen down the hall, if you want to take your grumpy bitch of a man-wife some.”

Castiel chuckled at the term and moved on down the hallway to the bathroom. “Thank you, Sam,” he called over his shoulder. “Tips on how to handle your brother are always appreciated.”

“Sex and bacon, it’s not rocket science!” Sam winked before disappearing through his bedroom door.

It only took Castiel a few minutes to freshen up and brush his teeth in the simple, but clean, bathroom that the Winchesters all shared. He added his new toothbrush to the cup above the sink with a tiny flutter of pride that he should be allowed to join this family. He decided that the coffee tip wasn’t a bad idea, and slipped quietly down to the kitchen to find two mugs and fill them before he went back to Dean.

“Oh, have mercy,” Dean said, closing his eyes and throwing his head back on the pillow, moaning erotically as Castiel crawled back into the bed and offered him one of the steaming mugs of coffee. “You know how I told you yesterday that I love you? I lied, now I love you.”

Castiel grinned as he leaned back into the pillows, and content silence surrounded them while they drained their cups. Placing his on the plain wooden nightstand when he was done, Dean rolled onto his side, facing Castiel, and reached one arm across his stomach to snuggle into his side.

“I like having you here, Cas.” Dean hummed contentedly as Castiel reached to put his own mug down next to Dean’s, leaning over him awkwardly.

Castiel snuggled down under the blanket, bringing him back face-to-face with Dean. “I like being here,” he whispered back, suddenly a little shy under Dean’s full, bright-green gaze.

Dean’s arm came up, pulling Castiel flush against his warm body. “I wanted to ask you to stay, you know, after I kissed you at the Roadhouse. I just worried that I’d freak you out.”

“Freak me out? Why?” Cas asked, tilting his head slightly from the pillow.

“You know, like you said, you have ‘no reference point for homosexual interactions.’” Dean lowered his voice, imitating Castiel’s solemn growl, before giving him a shit-eating grin.

Castiel pushed his lower lip out in a little pout, but he couldn’t help but laugh. “I have no experience, but I do have friends with unlawful inclinations and dirty mouths,” Castiel pointed out. “Just because something is new, doesn’t mean it’s unwanted.”

“Oh, is that so?” Dean gave a wolfish grin, wiggling up against Castiel and bumping their noses teasingly together. “Do tell me more.”

Castiel leaned in slowly, locking his gaze with Dean’s and decreasing the space between them to zero. His lips hovered right above Dean’s, brushing them tantalizingly together as he spoke. “When I woke up this morning, I could feel you against me, hot and hard… all I wanted was to push back into you, grind against you, show you everything I’ve thought about…”

Dean blinked and swallowed hard, his face lighting up with something like awe. “Cas—” he gulped out, his hand lowering to splay over Castiel’s flank, gripping him tight. “You’ve thought about me?”

Castiel let out a low groan in his throat. “Whenever I was alone, I thought about little else,” he confessed, feeling his blood rushing lower as Dean pushed him back into the pillows, climbing between his legs. “Your hands, your mouth… I’ve never come as fast as I did when I gave in and thought of you,” he admitted.

Dean’s breathing was coming faster, Castiel noted, as he pushed up to kneel between Castiel’s legs, his eyes devouring him hungrily as he looked down. Dean’s white pants tented between his legs, the material gloriously thin, allowing Castiel to make out the outline of his hardening cock beneath it.

“Show me, Cas,” Dean whispered, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip as his right hand shifted across his groin, his fingers trailing slowly across his cock. “Show me how beautiful you looked when you were thinking of me.”

Castiel nodded, his own breath coming in gulps as he trailed one hand down his stomach, the little ritual familiar even if the intense, green gaze pinning him to the bed wasn’t. He rubbed the heel of his hand down over the fabric of his pants, letting his eyes wander over Dean’s bare chest. “You’re so amazing, Dean,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Everything I never knew I wanted.”

Dean continued palming at himself through the fabric, his eyes consuming Castiel, following his movements.

Lifting his hips, Castiel pushed his pants down, tucking them beneath his balls out of the way so that he could grip his cock in earnest, squeezing at it for just the barest relief from everything he felt.

“Here—” Dean said, raising from the bed for just a moment. He went to the nightstand, pulling out a small tube of shiny, clear lube from the drawer. Castiel took the opportunity to kick his pants off entirely, giving him the space to bend up his knees and settle his balls into one hand, massaging them gently as he watched Dean.

Dean stood at the end of the bed, freeing his straining erection from his clothing and crawling, naked, back between Castiel’s legs. Dean squeezed some of the lube out onto his hands, dropping the tube down next to his shin as he kneeled, gazing down at Castiel’s gently bobbing cock. He reached out, cautiously asking, “May I?”

Castiel’s breath caught, and he nodded. “Yes.”

Slick and warm, Dean’s hand wrapped around Castiel, jerking him just a couple of slow times to spread the lube around him. Castiel groaned out loud, delighting in the sensation of having someone else’s hand on him.

His own hand returned slowly, firmly pulling at his cock once Dean withdrew, eased by the added lubrication. He bit down on his lip as he looked down between his legs where Dean kneeled; his legs parted, one hand fisting at the tip of his cock, the other sliding back between his legs, turning and pumping slowly. He never took his eyes away from Castiel.

“Fuck,” the low curse tumbled from Castiel’s lips when he realized what Dean was doing.

“Dirty mouth,” Dean said with a predatory grin, his hands continuing their movements. “I wouldn’t have expected that.”

“I usually try not to curse, but shit, watching you…” Castiel gasped.

“You like watching me, lover?” Dean’s voice took on the same husky, flirtatious tone it did whenever he wanted to tease Castiel, but his eyes locked firmly down onto him, and there was no teasing to be found there. “You like watching me open myself up for you, craving your gorgeous cock inside me?”

“Oh, god,” Castiel’s eyes rolled up toward the wooden headboard, his head tilting back into the pillows. His hand picked up speed, his hips twitching against the bed as they craved to thrust up into something. “You’re the one with the dirty mouth.”

Dean shifted, moving one arm up next to Castiel’s ribcage and taking his weight on it. Leaning over the top of him and gazing down, he took a moment to trail his eyes over Castiel’s face, before ducking down to kiss him deeply.

Moaning around Dean’s coffee flavored tongue, Castiel wrapped his spare hand up around Dean’s back, sliding it down until he could get a handful of Dean’s ass. He could feel Dean’s arm between them, stretching and opening himself, occasionally bumping against Castiel’s own arm as he stroked.

Dean didn’t break the kiss as he slid his fingers out of himself and pushed Castiel’s hand aside, wrapping his large, strong hand around them both.

Feeling Dean’s cock pressed against his own pulled a sharp gasp from Castiel, his eyes flying open to see bright green only inches away.

“Is this okay?” Dean panted, his chest heaving between them. “Do you want—”

“Yes,” Castiel cut him off quickly. “I want all of it. Please. I’m not afraid,” he reassured Dean. “I want you.”

“Oh, thank god,” Dean moaned, dipping his forehead down to Castiel’s shoulder as his hand squeezed and pumped them together. He shifted his legs, straddling Castiel’s hips with first one knee, then the other. Castiel dropped his legs down flat on the bed to help, his empty hands coming up to Dean’s hips as Dean spoke again. “I want you inside me so bad, Cas.”

Castiel practically whimpered at the declaration, and opened his mouth to give a sensible response; but the words fled, chased away by a frantic curses as Dean stopped jerking their cocks in unison and rolled his hips forward, guiding Castiel’s cock unerringly towards his stretched, waiting warmth. “Shit! Dean! Please—”

Dean hovered for a moment, straddling him with the tip of Castiel’s cock just waiting, rubbing between his ass cheeks. “You’re sure?” he checked again, his voice shaking audibly.

“Fuck, Dean, just—” Castiel chose for them, gripping tight into Dean’s hips and pushing, steady and firm, until the tip of his cock made it past the first fluttering ring of muscle between Dean’s legs.

“Ahhh!” Dean yelled aloud, a senseless sound that turned into a gasping breath. He looked down at Castiel, his eyes wide.

Castiel gazed back, knowing that he must look utterly wrecked; he was sweating, trembling, his breath coming in desperate spurts, his fingernails digging into the thin flesh at Dean’s hip bones as he froze, overwhelmed by sensation.

“Cas?” Dean managed to whisper, softly, waiting.

“D-don’t move,” Castiel managed, a bead of sweat trickling down from his brow to cluster at the corner of his eye. Or at least he hoped it was sweat; the thought that it might be a tear was embarrassing at best. Regardless of what it was, Dean leaned down and kissed it away, leaving his face nuzzled in next to Castiel’s, his lips close to his ear.

“Just let me know when it’s okay,” Dean murmured, one hand slithering between them to give a little relief to his trembling cock.

Castiel had never felt something so tight, the heat as overwhelming as the pressure was. He nodded against Dean’s face, and slowly the other man sunk down, inch by inch, to a cacophony of moans and gasps from Castiel’s lips.

When Dean was fully seated, he kissed Castiel again, before leaning back; arching his spine, placing his palms on Castiel’s thighs. “Fuck, Cas,” he hissed out, low and dirty. “You feel amazing, so good…”

They started slow. Dean was almost reverential in the way he rotated his pelvis in tiny motions, his eyes on Castiel, watching his every reaction, checking wordlessly with a clasped hand or a nod every minute or so that Castiel was okay, that he was feeling good, that he didn’t want to stop.

“It’s fine,” Castiel said, his voice hazy and husky, dropping lower by the minute. “More than fine, it’s fantastic—you’re fantastic, please…”

A familiar, pleasantly tight sensation began to tug at Castiel low in his abdomen, distracting him from words for a minute.

“That what you need, baby?” Dean’s voice was wrecked, the sound of it filthy to Castiel’s ears even with his sweetly intended words.

“Ahh—yes, please—faster.” Castiel’s hands came up to grip tightly at Dean’s hip bones, the pads of his fingers leaving red pressure marks amongst the freckles.

“You want more?” Dean asked, teasing, almost bratty, though Castiel could hear the low rumble of desperation in his voice he had to push through to achieve it.

“Dean. Faster.”

The growled instruction came like a command, and Dean’s body jerked at the sound of it. “Fuck, you’re so sexy when you talk like that,” Dean admitted easily, fucking himself up and down on Castiel’s cock with renewed vigor, speeding up, grinding down deeper.

 _Oh, fuck_ —Castiel could barely think, every coherent assessment of the situation burned away to heat and sensation alone. Everything narrowed down to a single point; his body and Dean’s, joined, slick and responsive, the fulcrum on which the world turned.

Dean worked himself against Castiel, clenching and fluttering around him as Dean sought out just the right spot to rip pleasure from them both.

“Dean—” Cas gasped out, his eyes drifting closed as he gave in, losing himself entirely to the sensation. “I’m not going to last long—”

The growl that punched out of Dean at his words pushed him even closer.

“Fuck yes, come Cas, fill me up, love…” Dean was practically babbling, and Castiel could feel him convulsing around him. “Want you to come inside me, please—”

Dean was practically vibrating above him, looking so close to coming himself that his face scrunched, lost and helpless. Castiel reached down, wrapping his hand around Dean. He held still, every bounce that Dean made against his hips drawing him up on Castiel’s cock before slamming back down, fucking himself into the tunnel of Castiel’s hand with the same motion.

Castiel gave a little twist to the head of Dean’s cock on the upstroke, and pulled a broken yell from him. Suddenly Castiel’s hand was full, shiny and wet, thick spurts of Dean covering his fingers.

Castiel threw his head back, slamming his hips up as he pulsed into Dean’s ass. The hand still at Dean’s hip held him tight, holding him still so that Castiel could push in deeper, deeper, painting his insides with violent twitches and dry yells.

It seemed that Dean liked the feeling, the splashing of come across Castiel’s hand and stomach lasting almost all the way through Castiel’s own release.

Dean tumbled down to his chest, quickly raising his hips once Castiel released him with a sore hiss. Castiel eased out of him as gently as he could, both of their deflating, over sensitive cocks squashed between them as Dean lay on top of him, panting softly.

“Fuck,” Dean said again, his voice clearer after a moment.

“Indeed,” Castiel agreed breathlessly. For a moment he didn’t know what else to say, but then Dean’s lips were back at his and they kissed through it, slow and lazy and soft.

Dean reached down and grabbed one of their abandoned white shirts from the floor, Castiel couldn’t tell whose. He cleaned them both up carefully, taking his time and being quite gentle. Castiel smiled as he watched him, realizing that he probably looked drunk, sprawled on the pillows and grinning hazily. He gasped at a flutter of sensation and looked down to realize that Dean had pressed his lips to the head of Castiel’s softening cock, declaring it clean with a kiss.

“I’m getting my mouth around that next time, mark my words,” Dean said with a wink.

Castiel laughed, reaching down to pull at Dean’s shoulders, settling him up next to him in his arms. “Thank you,” he said, when he had Dean in place.

“You don’t have to thank me for sex, Cas. Christ.” Dean laughed.

“No, just…” Castiel shrugged. “For everything. Though, the sex is right up there at the top.”

Dean grinned against his cheek before kissing it, wrapping his arms under Castiel’s armpits to squeeze him tight. “You know I love you, right?”

Castiel smirked. “You might have mentioned it once or twice.”

“I managed not to yell it to the rooftops when I came, gimme a little credit,” Dean grumbled, untangling them once more and sitting up. He shuffled down to the end of the bed and then stood up, moving across to a small dresser that Castiel hadn’t even noticed before they went to sleep, as he’d been so enchanted by the beautiful pictures all around. Dean pulled open a couple of drawers and came back with a small bundle of the loose, white clothing he always wore.

“Thanks,” Cas said, taking the clean clothing he was offered and starting to shimmy into it. Once he had pants on again, he stopped to look up at Dean, who was dressing beside the bed. “I guess I need to work out what I’m doing now,” he pointed out solemnly.

Dean nodded, serious for a moment as he pulled his shirt over his head. “Yeah. I doubt Zachariah is pleased you gave him the slip, and no matter how many credits you’ve got, they’re all worthless here. We should talk about the rebellion, and your brother, and everything else. We need a game plan.”

“Do you think he’ll come looking for me?” Castiel asked, unable to sound quite as brave as he hoped.

The sound of screaming and gunshots from further down the hall spared Dean from an honest answer.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Chaos.

Castiel and Dean both ran from the bedroom at the same time, barefoot and yelling out to see what was happening. Six Controllers, in full white, linen uniforms and fully weaponized, with helmets and steel toed boots, filled the Winchesters’ tiny living room. From the shouting, it was clear there were more outside.

Castiel tried to take in what was happening, but everything was too loud, voices echoing all around.

“I told her to get back!” The controller in front yelled, pointing his gun at Sam, who crouched on the floor.

_ Standard issue, 13mm City Controller rifle, _ Castiel thought involuntarily.

“She’s DEAF!” Sam was screaming, red faced and bare chested, still in the same loose house pants Castiel had seen him in earlier that morning. “She couldn’t hear you!”

Slowly, piece by piece, things were clicking into place around Castiel. Another controller was turning, yelling something at him, another gun pointed in his direction.

But Castiel couldn’t take his eyes from Sam.

Cradled in Sam’s arms lay Eileen, her eyes wide and glassy. The white tunic she wore served as a stark, barbaric canvas for the blood that spread from her chest. The fabric soaked it up hungrily, and it began to spread across Sam’s pants and smear on his stomach.

“Eileen,” Castiel said, blinking. He felt like he was underwater, everything sluggish and slow.

The controller pointing his gun at him yelled something in his face before spinning him, smashing Castiel’s face against the wall before he looped a thick chain quickly over his head, settling it against his throat. The controller pulled, choking him, locking the chain into the handcuffs he was attaching behind Castiel’s back.

“Cas!” Dean was yelling, but Castiel couldn’t see him.

Controllers moved in, more of them now, surrounding Sam, and Dean, and him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel saw Sam pulled up to standing, Eileen kicked aside as if she meant nothing, as if she hadn’t been a much-loved life just moments before. Sam was hysterical, kicking and thrashing against the Controllers trying to chain him.

“This is your fault!” Sam screamed out, bucking against the first Controller that had reached him, heedless of the gun at his ribs or the baton of his neck. “This is on you, Cas! You brought them here!”

Castiel felt sick, and dizzy.

“Cas!” Dean’s voice was somewhere to his left, but the chain wouldn’t let him turn to see. “It’s not your fault, he’s just—” There was a sharp grunt and a  _ thunk _ of something hitting flesh, and Dean’s attempt at reassuring Castiel was silenced.

Castiel could only listen as chains clanked and something heavy  _ thumped _ as Dean was dragged away.

“Dean!” Castiel screamed in panic, trying desperately to turn his head and find him, to no avail.

“You wanna be next?” A short, stocky controller growled, raising a thick baton threateningly as he stepped in front of Castiel.

The thought that this  _ person _ , this arbiter of the City’s vile rules, had hurt Dean, killed Eileen, had probably hurt Sam… Castiel’s blood boiled. Weaponless and restrained, he knew there was nothing he could do; but nonetheless it felt good to snap his head forward and spit in the Controller's face.

“Bite me!” Castiel hissed.

The baton came up to his temple and everything went quiet.

**~~***~~**

 

Something thick and wet dripped into Castiel’s eye.

It took him a minute to work out where his arm was and how to use it, so that he could reach up to touch gingerly at the swollen lump on his brow, which wept and thickly oozed blood into his eyebrow. He tried to sit up; that wasn’t happening just yet, he decided.

Instead he lay, eyes closed, and listened to the deafening staccato thump in his head. After a minute he realized that the sound was his own heartbeat; his head just hurt so much it felt too loud.

A particularly whiny whoosh of air, rather than an actual groan, fell from his lips as he pushed himself up as best he could, leaning his weight into his hands and hanging his head.

The room was very dim, and smelled of mold, damp, and stale, unmoving air. The dark stone walls, slowly coming into focus through his squinting eyes, were sadly familiar. He was in one of the holding cells in the Council chambers, again.

Smearing the thick blood that was congealing across his face until he could see clearly, Castiel crawled across the unforgiving floor to the bars. He leaned up against them, his temple against the condensating metal, and tried his best to see if any of the other cells were occupied.

A lump in the cell opposite and one down told him there was someone there, but they were unmoving, treated no better—he assumed—than he had been.

The other cells were out of sight, try as he may.

“Dean?” Castiel croaked, finding his throat devoid of all moisture. “Sam?”

There was no response.

_ How long have I been here? _ He thought, looking around for anything that could give him a sense of time. There were no windows, and only one dim bulb illuminated the corridor between the stone cages. His watch, of course, was long gone; probably stolen by one of the controllers before he even made it here, Castiel supposed.

Eventually he crawled over to the wooden bench that was built in along one wall and stretched out on it. It wasn’t comfortable in the slightest, not quite wide enough and splintery in places. But it was preferable to the cold stone floor that had an ingrained smell of sweat and blood that he wasn’t convinced was just his.

He slept, on and off. Occasionally something would wake him; a sound, perhaps someone nearby, or in the Council chambers, or in the main jail below, he was never sure. By the time he’d jerked awake, whatever it had been was always gone. After a while he woke up and the single light bulb was off, the cell dark enough that he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. Did that mean it was night time? He wasn’t sure, but when he woke again the light was back on, and right outside his cell, just reachable through the bars, there was a small bottle of water.

And so it went on.

He tried to count the number of times the light went on and off, assigning them as days, the only measure he had in the otherwise indeterminable silence.

Occasionally a Controller would come, to leave his water; they never spoke, no matter what he threw at them or how he begged.

The lump-that-was-probably-a-person disappeared on the second day.

It was three days before they fed him; a single meal supplement pill, like a ship’s emergency rations. He was almost afraid to swallow it, in case another never came.

They forgot the food often, the water less, but still frequently enough that he’d wake up with headaches that split his skill from ear to ear. He’d be dizzy and sick, but had absolutely nothing in him to throw up.

Whenever his voice worked, he’d call for Dean, or Sam, or Gabriel, or Benny. Any name that he could recall through the listless fuzz of darkness and dehydration.

He was always cold.

His sense of smell gave out after what might have been the seventh day; the cell had nowhere for waste, and so what little there was he was forced to sit with.

Only once did he cry; he heard a voice, or so he thought, somewhere beyond the door that led down to the main jail. He thought it might have been Dean, and even knowing it was probably just in his head, he cried with relief that the Righteous Man just  _ might _ be alive.

He’d gathered his tears with his fingers, using them to wet his lips, afraid to waste them.

After fourteen days or thereabouts—he thought he might be starting to lose count—he opened his eyes to see Gabriel kneeling outside the cell, calling his name over and over through the bars.

He didn’t move at first; why give a dream or hallucination any of his energy, after all?

But when he looked again, his brother looked different. Gabriel was thinner, no doubt, and there were stress lines around his eyes deeper than Castiel remembered. He looked sleepless, his cheekbones bruised gently purple with bags from under his eyes. He wasn’t as polished as usual, his hair greasier, his white shirt only roughly buttoned, his tie loose.

“Cassie!” he pleaded. “Can you hear me? Castiel!”

Slowly, Castiel pushed up to his knees and crawled to the door, jutting his arm out between the bars.

“Gabriel.” He paused briefly to moisten his tongue in his mouth before speaking again. “Why are you crying?”

“Well that’s a stupid question,” Gabriel said, a relieved laugh punching out of him. “Raspberries Cassie, you had me scared for a minute. Thought you weren’t still in there anymore.”

Gabriel’s arms were through the door of the cell, between the bars, embracing Castiel awkwardly, metal and all.

“You came.” Castiel stated.

“Of course I did, as soon as I could get here with no one watching,” Gabriel squeezed him once more before letting go, then opened his suit jacket, bringing out a water bottle. “Here, drink—I’m sure they didn’t give you enough.”

Castiel gulped the water down keenly while Gabriel took a small baggie of the meal replacement pills from his pocket, slipping them through the bars.

“Take these, too,” he said quietly. “Though only one at a time, okay. You’ll make yourself sick.”

Castiel nodded slowly, the water remarkably refreshing, slowly bringing him back to himself. “They didn’t get you too?”

“No.” Gabriel shook his head. “It’s been rough, but I don’t think they suspect me yet. My picture still isn’t in any of Zachariah’s files, and I’m still working. I feel like my days are numbered, though.”

“What happened to Dean and the others? They aren’t here.”

“They aren’t as important as you. They’re down below. One of them, the girl, she didn’t make it.”

“I know.”

“Shit, Cassie, I don’t know what to say. I wish I could get you out of here, but I need a plan, and I—”

Castiel reached through the bars again, patting at Gabriel’s thigh as he knelt next to the door. “It’s okay. I know you’re trying.”

“I have some ideas, but it’s not safe to even try until after your trial, they’re watching you too closely. I had to bribe three Controllers just to get in here now.”

“Trial?” Castiel was surprised. He hadn’t thought for a minute that the City would do such a thing.

Gabriel nodded, scowling unpleasantly. “Yeah. They want to make an example of you, I think. They’re even going to video the damn thing. Beam it to every screen in the city, make a spectacle of you.

“On what charges?”

“Treason, and homosexuality. I saw the writs on their way to Zachariah’s office. I, uh, I wasn’t even totally sure if that last one was actually true, all my teasing aside. Not that they care.”

Castiel shrugged. “It is.”

“Oh.” Gabriel cleared his throat awkwardly. “So, I guess it was true for Dean too, then?”

“Yeah.” Castiel gave him an awkward smile through the bars before dropping his gaze. “I’m sorry if you’re disappointed, or anything.”

Gabriel shrugged, a puff of laughter that was devoid of all humor pushing past his lips. “Don’t really care, to be honest. I’ve never cared about that kinda stuff ol’ bean, you know that.”

“Why?” Castiel looked up, curious. “How did they not get you too?”

Gabriel smirked. “Never went through the final training, did I? Wasn’t smart enough to be a Commander. Kept my head down, got pulled into enforcement when they got sick of me blowing stuff up in the military science labs, remember? As long as I obeyed, never gave them reason to doubt me, they never treated me.”

Castiel blinked. “You played dumb. For years.”

Gabriel grins. “I guess you thought I really was that stupid, huh.”

“Well, yeah.” Despite himself, Castiel found himself chuckling. “Sorry, brother.”

For a moment they lapsed into silence, but knowing that their time was limited, Castiel pushed himself up a little straighter, and asked more questions.

“Is Dean okay?”

“He’s alive, and I can’t see on his record that he was taken to the infirmary or anything. That’s the only comfort I’ve got, I’m afraid,” Gabriel admitted.

“When’s the trial?”

“Seven more days. If I can come again, I will. If not, I think I can persuade one of the Controllers to be a little better about bringing you supplies. His kid is sick, he needs credits.”

Castiel nodded slowly. “What about after?”

“We’ll see how the trial goes. I’m trying to gather as much help as I can, but I can’t make too much noise. After they sentence you and the others, one way or another, I’ll work out how to get you out.”

“You’re a good brother.”

“Nah, I’m a bit of a shitty one at the best of times.”

“That’s true,” Castiel smiled crookedly. “But you try.”

There was a noise from beyond the Council chamber door, and Gabriel quickly sprang to his feet. “I have to go. I’m so sorry, Castiel. I’m doing everything I can.”

“Go.”

Castiel slumped back against the edge of the wooden bench, looking down at the water bottle still in his hands. He balanced it against his knee, his once-white pants now greys and browns in the dim, one-bulb light. He screwed the cap back onto the bottle carefully, saving the other half for later. Counting out the meal replacement pills, he took one, and decided to take another when the light went out, spacing them out to help him rebuild his strength.

Whatever happened at the trial in seven days, he’d be ready.

**~~***~~**

 

Castiel hadn’t expected to be dressed up for the trial. He was dragged from his cell unceremoniously not long after the light had turned on for the day, so he supposed it was early. He tried to press the Controllers for information, but all it gained him was a boot in the stomach.

He supposed that Zachariah wanted to make sure he looked like a citizen; someone that people out in the City could relate to, so that they weren’t inclined to make his mistakes.

He was shaved and showered (if you could call being hosed down by a silent, glaring Controller a shower) and pushed into a smart, thick white suit with a vest and tie. New boots were shoved onto his feet. A comb was tugged roughly through his hair, though Castiel knew that was a hopeless cause, he’d tried often enough. He was handcuffed, pulled back and forth, and generally treated like a ragdoll for what felt like hours. For a brief second, he almost missed his cell.

Then he was marched through the Chambers to the main City Court. That part was the worst; flanked on either side by a line of six controllers, like he was some violent criminal. People stared and whispered. Castiel stared forward defiantly, ignoring them all.

Once they reached the court complex, he was shoved into a small waiting room. There were chairs set up in pairs, back to back, with large metal columns between them. Castiel was pushed down into the nearest one, his handcuffs wrapped back around the pole, and left in silence.

He twisted his wrists carefully, but he knew already that getting out of the cuffs was beyond his capabilities. So, he waited.

Sometime later, perhaps half an hour, perhaps more, Castiel heard noises moving toward the door. He craned his neck to try and see, but couldn’t quite get far enough.

Another prisoner was hustled in, in the chair back to back with him, and handcuffed. The second prisoners cuffs pressed down uncomfortably on Castiel’s wrists, but it wasn’t like he could complain.

The moment the door closed, the prisoner spoke up.

“Cas!”

“Dean!” Castiel jerked his head around as far as possible, trying hard to stretch around and see Dean, check he was okay, and just revel in the sight of him. But the pole between them, a thick column of metal, was too thick to allow him to turn.

“Oh god, Cas,” Dean’s voice shook and broke. “You weren’t in the jail, I tried so hard to find you, I thought—”

“They kept me isolated, in the holding cells above,” Castiel explained quickly.

In the space behind their chairs where their handcuffs met, their hands scrambled, each desperately grasping for the other.

They couldn’t turn, they couldn’t see each other, but their fingers entwined, squeezing tight.

“I’m so glad you’re alive,” Dean said.

Castiel thought it sounded suspiciously like the “one-tear-per-year” that Dean had joked he was allowed was being used, but he didn’t say anything about it, squeezing Dean’s fingers instead.

“How’s Sam?” Castiel asked.

“Been better,” Dean admitted, quietly. “He doesn’t really blame you, you know. He was just in shock, that’s all.”

“But he wasn’t wrong, either.”

“You can’t blame yourself for Eileen, Cas. It’s the City’s fault, and no one else’s.”

Castiel made a non-committal noise. He wasn’t about to waste these precious minutes arguing with Dean, but he knew himself well enough. Eileen’s blood would always, to his mind, be on his hands.

Dean’s voice softened. “I missed you.”

Castiel could feel the corner of his mouth curling up in a half smile, for the first time in days. “I missed you too, Dean.”

“We’re gonna be okay.”

It was a lie, not a pretty one or a subtle one, just simply what they needed to hear. Castiel clenched Dean’s fingers tight between his own, and Dean squeezed back so hard that both of their fingers cracked. Neither of them complained.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, before Dean started talking again.

“Bobby’s got data drives full of movies, you know. Not the informational crap they show us here; old ones, from Earth. Stories. Amazing adventures and tales of heroes and villains, all kinds of things. When we get out of here, we’re going to watch every one of them, together.”

“How many are there?”

“Thousands,” Dean said, a smile in his voice.

“That will take a while.”

“Gonna keep you around a while.”

Dean squeezed, and Castiel squeezed back. Castiel spoke next.

“Did you know that in the farming circles beyond the main City, they keep bees in boxes, and if a bee finds a good source of nectar, it’ll go back and tell its friends where it is? They communicate by movement, you know, doing a dance that tells them the position of the flower in relation to the sun and the hive.”

“That’s amazing, Cas. Have you ever seen it?”

“No. Always wanted to.”

“When we get out of here, we’re going to find somewhere with bees, and you can have hives of your own, and watch them.”

Squeeze, squeeze.

And so, they carried on, trading senseless anecdotes and making silly plans for the life they weren’t allowed to have.

When they heard boots coming back down the hall, they knotted their aching fingers as tight as they could, whispering quietly.

“I love you, Cas. We’ll be okay.”

“Of course we will. I love you too, Dean.”

**~~***~~**

 

They put Dean on trial before Castiel.

Castiel sat in the waiting room just outside the Court, handcuffed to yet another chair, flanked by Controllers he didn’t bother to count. There was a plexiglass window in front of him, affording him a view of the courtroom. He could watch Dean’s trial as it happened, which was both a relief and a torture.

The room was smaller than Castiel expected, though he wasn’t sure why. He supposed that the City didn’t need that much room to punish people for disobeying their hateful laws, which was really all that happened here. The whole room was paneled in dark cherry wood and decorated with heavy, green velvet drapes. It felt hideously opulent compared to the simple, stark white clothes of the few people who occupied it.

Dean’s trial wasn’t to be televised, as showing a real, live Unassigned on the screen would take more explanation than the city was willing to give. That dubious honor was to be reserved for Castiel, it seemed. So, Dean was led into the courtroom without much preamble, and pushed into a box to speak.

For the first time, Castiel got a good look at him. He was pale, a little thinner perhaps, covered in bruises. Some of the ones around his face looked red and fresh; and Castiel found himself thinking that it would be better, just for once, if Dean could keep his mouth shut and not tempt the guards to beat him. But he knew Dean wouldn’t, and he loved him for it.

“Full name?” the Judge asked. She was a vicious-looking redhead named Abaddon, and Castiel had heard plenty of tales of her from Gabriel, none of them good. Obviously, they wouldn’t have Gabriel overseeing a day in court which included his own brother, Castiel realized with a sinking feeling, no matter how convinced they were of Gabriel’s compliance.

“Dean Michael Winchester.”

“Age?”

“Twenty-four.”

“The charges set against you are as follows, Mister Winchester. Resisting arrest, one count. Conspiracy, nineteen counts. Lewd and inappropriate behavior, three counts. Homosexuality, three counts. Treason, eleven counts.”

Castiel could see Dean’s eyebrow raise even through the window.

“Do you understand those charges and their nature, Mister Winchester?”

“Not really,” Dean shrugged. “How you came up with those numbers is a mystery. I’ve resisted arrest far more times than I’ve had a cock up my ass, and just for honesty’s sake, three is a bit low for that one.”

A couple of the Controller’s in the almost empty courtroom actually gasped out loud, causing Castiel to roll his eyes. As if they were so shocked by the language; he’d heard how lewd Controllers could be once they were off-shift, as had everyone else.

Part of him desperately wished Dean would stay quiet. But he knew that it really didn’t matter what Dean said in this farce of a trial, any more than it would matter what he said in his.

“Do you have anything to say in your defense at all, Mister Winchester?”

“Actually, I do.”

There was a weighty silence, filled with Controllers and court staff looking at each other. Even Judge Abaddon looked curious for a moment, though when she responded, she sounded bored.

“Go on.”

“I will agree with the City that some of the things I have done are criminal. I certainly have resisted arrest, and my behavior is definitely known to get a bit lewd, especially after a few drinks of moonshine, which—oops, I guess that’s illegal too.”

_ God help us, did he just wink at the jury?  _ Castiel thought desperately.

“But,” Dean continued, “some of the things you accuse me of I will never agree to. You are trying me under the pretense that loving someone can be regulated, can be controlled. It doesn’t matter what kind of genitals a person has, your Honor, how I feel about them is my business and no one else’s.”

Dean’s voice rose defiantly, and Castiel found he was holding his breath.

“In this City,” Dean said, his voice low and almost threatening, “there is a world of difference between something that is legal and something that is right. I stand on the side of right, and I’ll keep fighting for it, no matter what you accuse me of.”

The courtroom was silent, but Castiel’s heart was thumping loudly.  _ There he is,  _ Castiel thought.  _ The Righteous Man.  _ He found himself smiling goofily.  _ My Righteous Man. _

With a deft smack, the controller to Castiel’s left whacked the smile off his face, and the courtroom dissolved into yelling.

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

It took a few minutes for everything to settle down.

Abaddon claimed they’d heard quite enough from Dean, and he was sent away, dragged from the box once more, to await his sentencing.

Castiel noted with a dry, cold amusement that they didn’t even bother presenting any evidence. He didn’t expect any better for his own trial, so he was somewhat surprised when he was dragged to the courtroom himself and had to wait while it filled with people.

There were cameras set up all around the room, he noticed; court technicians scrambling to get them into place as soon as Castiel was rudely shoved up the small step into his box. He felt like a piece of meat on display; everyone in the room threw him side-glances, whispering to each other, giggling.

He had no idea what to say. It wasn’t like anything he could say would matter; they were doing this to make an example of him, so clearly, they had already decided how it would end. Getting off with anything less than an execution order would be the highest of miracles, and Castiel didn’t feel like he’d done quite enough praying of late to be worthy.

So, he said nothing, and gave away nothing with his expression as the room filled. He picked a spot on the wall ahead, and fixed his gaze on it, blankly.

He wouldn’t say anything. They’d only edit it, so it appeared he said what they wanted, anyway.

“Full name?” Judge Abaddon enquired.

Nothing.

“Age?” she tried.

Castiel was developing a specific sixth sense for when he was about to be whacked with a Controller’s baton, and he managed to side-step just in time.

“If you will not cooperate, Castiel James Novak, age twenty-two, then your silence will be added to your evidence of guilt.”

Castiel was struck for a minute that something sounded off about what she said; until it hit him that he’d missed his birthday. He’d spent it in solitary, curled up in the dark, starving and dehydrated. He was twenty-two now.

He still said nothing; he was guilty, after all. That was never a question here.

Abaddon glared at him hotly, but she didn’t say anything else; merely raised her gavel and thumped sharply, twice. “In that case, the charges are as follows. Resisting arrest, homosexuality and treason. Bring out the witnesses, as I doubt he has anything to say about the charges.”

_ Witnesses? _ Castiel was puzzled, but he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of looking away from his chosen spot on the wall.

“I present the first witness, your honor,” said the dull voice of what Castiel assumed to be one of the City prosecutors. “She, in fact, was the one to come forward and turn Mister Novak in to the authorities, several days before his arrest.”

_ Several days before? _ Castiel thought.  _ So, before I was taken to Zachariah. _

“Full name?” Judge Abaddon droned.

“Hannah Shurley, your Honor.”

Something like a trailing, ice cold hand thrust in between Castiel’s ribs and stopped him breathing. He struggled to keep his eyes on the wall, a deep, heartbreaking feeling of betrayal settling in his stomach.

He knew he hadn’t ever loved Hannah as she wanted him to. They both knew that, he was sure. But he’d at least thought they were friends.

He hadn’t thought for a minute that she would turn him in.

He didn’t even understand how she knew about Dean; but slowly, as her words filled the courtroom, everything became clearer. How she’d always known that he had no sexual interest in her, but had hoped that once they were married, it could change. How she’d grown to suspect, over the months they’d been assigned, that it might be more than that.

_ She knew before I did,  _ Castiel realized with a weak flicker of amusement.

She spoke honestly of how she’d had Hester follow him; her jealousy when he’d spent his evenings elsewhere, in the company of men, rather than with her. She recalled how he’d rejected her, tried to tell her, repeatedly, that he didn’t want her.

The Courtroom was silent.

Sympathetic, he supposed, though he didn’t dare look.

Hannah’s story of jealousy and “wanting to do the right thing” left him cold.

_ The right thing,  _ he thought,  _ would have been to talk to me. To listen, when I tried to do right by you and not mislead you into a loveless marriage. Instead of simply deciding that my feelings didn’t matter, only the City's wishes. _

Castiel could feel his cheeks heating with anger, but he bit down on the inside of his cheek, focusing on the physical pain, rather than the emotional.

The city had managed to drag up another couple of witnesses, though their testimonies were much less impressive to the assembled jury. They called on the Controller that had seen Dean and him in the doorway to his apartment building, after their trip to watch the sunrise. They also brought forward the hateful Unassigned that Dean had said no one liked, back when they’d walked each evening to Dean’s apartment from the red-brick alley in town. It was a risk for them to have him here, Castiel knew, but he assumed they’d paid him off well. He wore long sleeves, disguising his lack of barcode, and it turned out his name was Cole.

The proceedings wrapped up fairly quickly. There was no one to defend Castiel; they didn’t even ask for anyone to come forward. His guilt was already guaranteed, as he knew it would be.

“Do you have anything to say at all, Mister Novak?” Judge Abaddon asked, turning her perfectly made-up, cold smile on him. She gestured to the camera trained on his box. “Any last words of repentance perhaps?”

The fact that he was already dead, that he was just in a bizarre waiting period beforehand, struck Castiel quietly, not like the weighty realization it should have been.

The City had already decided his fate, and were now using this farce of a trial to try and gain the upper hand, show any citizens that might have similar, deviant ideas what awaited them if they acted against the City.

Slowly, Castiel moved his eyes from the spot on the wall, no longer watching Abaddon from the corner of his eye, but allowing his gaze to rest on her heavily. Then he turned back to the camera.

He smiled calmly. “I do have one thing to say, yes.”

Something flickered in Abaddon’s eyes, and he knew that she sensed this was a bad idea.

Nodding at the camera operator, Castiel looked straight into the lens. Clearing his throat, he made sure to project his voice so that no one in attendance could be left in any doubt.

“If my only choice in life is who I get fucked by, then I’m afraid I’d rather bend over for a man than the City, any day.”

There was an eerie silence, so Castiel carried on, louder.

“In fact, why don’t you go and bring Dean back in here right now! He can make good use of these handcuffs and bend me over for the camera, I’m sure he’d love to fu—”

The moment snapped, and several Controllers’ batons hit him at once, as the noise in the shrieking courtroom overwhelmed him.

**~~***~~**

 

Unfortunately, Castiel wasn’t unconscious for long.

_ It’s a good thing they’re going to kill me, _ he mused dryly to himself,  _ or I’d be seriously concerned about all these head injuries. _

Spitting some thick, congealing blood out onto the floor of his cell, he tried to get to his knees, but found that his right knee didn’t cooperate at all. Hissing at the sharp pain, Castiel tugged up the leg of his suit, which had been a beautiful white before the trial but was now a dirty grey. His knee was swollen, purple and black, the kneecap visibly misshapen under a sharply-outlined baton-shaped bruise.  

Slowly, sitting still and trying to breathe carefully, he mentally catalogued his body.

His kneecap was agony. He had another lump on his temple, to match the still healing scars from several others that now graced his forehead. He was bruised from the handcuffs, sores from the unyielding metal weeping around his wrists. Several of his ribs were aching and his head felt well and truly beaten, but otherwise, he found he was okay.

_ Aside from the knee, not bad for a walking dead man, _ he thought to himself, smiling. He wasn’t sure where his strange, death row amusement at everything was coming from, but he was grateful for it.

He sat, trying to ignore the increasing agony in his leg as it swelled further, wondering how long he had.

Eventually, the single lightbulb switched off, and he was alone in the pitch black. Hours passed, as best he could work out. He thought that perhaps he dozed, but it was hard to tell. He was certainly awake, grimacing and rearranging his leg on the stone floor, when he heard the door at the far end of the corridor creak.

For a moment there was a slither of dim, far away light, then silence again. Just as Castiel was about to dismiss it and try to go back to sleep, a hand reached through the bars of the cell and gripped his shoulder in the pitch-black.

“Cassie!” Gabriel hissed, his voice the lowest of whispers.

“Gabriel!” Castiel said, his voice mimicking his brother’s tone automatically. “What are you doing here?”

“Getting you out, of course,” Gabriel said. There were fumbling noises in the dark, a jangling sound like a key, shuffling as he moved.

“Getting me out? That’s a huge risk, Gabriel! They’re going to know it was you if—”

“No time to worry about it,” Gabriel interrupted, swinging open the cell door with a creak. “They plan to put you in front of a firing squad at dawn.”

Despite his earlier nonchalance about his own death, Castiel’s mouth went dry.

“Come on, Cassie,” Gabriel whispered desperately, grabbing for him in the dark. “Can you walk?”

“Not well, but I’ll make it.” Castiel groped for Gabriel’s shoulder, leaning against him. “What about Dean, and the others—"

“I got Dean and Sam from the jail under the pretense of taking statements from them earlier,” Gabriel said. “The jail is so full that I doubt anyone will notice they’re gone until the firing squad is ready. You were harder, they’ve had Controllers on you every second.”

Something in Castiel’s chest loosened upon hearing that Dean and Sam were out of the jail. He could have hugged his brother, but they had other priorities.

Gabriel led them quietly up to the end of the corridor, and out into the dimly lit office beyond.

“Where are they now, the Controllers?” Castiel asked, keeping his voice low.

“Changing shifts,” Gabriel said. “I paid off one of the incoming team to create a distraction, he’ll be having an unexpected bout of sickness outside the building as we speak.”

In the low light the simple guard office provided, Castiel could see that Gabriel looked worn, the bags around his eyes deeper than ever. A wave of guilt passed through him, but now wasn’t the time.

“Come on,” Gabriel urged, supporting Castiel as best he could with one arm tucked around his ribs. “We have to get you to the infirmary.”

“The infirmary? How? We’d have to go out into the street, I don’t think we’d get that far—”

“I have a fire escape in my office that leads down to a path directly through the infirmary grounds, to the clocktower.”

“Of course you do,” Castiel said, smiling slightly.

They moved as quickly as they could through the silent corridors; the clock on the wall of the guard office had informed Castiel it was just past midnight, and the Council chambers were empty apart from them, a few particularly fastidious workers, and—supposedly at least—the guards.

Gabriel took a left and headed along a short corridor, with several heavy, ornate doors. Castiel had visited his older brother at work enough to know that these were the Judges offices. Light crept out from below more than one of the doors.

They moved silently up to Gabriel’s door, and slipped into his office. While Gabriel took a moment to take a key from his pocket, locking the door behind them, Castiel took the same moment to lean into his brother’s heavy oak desk, relieving the weight from his angry knee.

“What did they do to you, Cassie?”

Castiel looked up from his examination of his knee to find Gabriel frowning at him. “You didn’t watch the trial?” he asked, smirking.

Gabriel gave him a quick smile in return, already moving across to the window to open it. “I did. Both the real recording, and the heavily edited one they  _ tried _ to release to the public. I probably only have a few hours before they work out who switched the files. That was quite some speech, by the way.”

He grinned, and Castiel thought that there might actually be a hint of pride in it.

“Anyway,” Gabriel continued. “They didn’t do that to you in the courtroom. Just knocked you out and dragged you away. That must have been some fun they had after, I guess, when they got you back to the isolation cells.”

Castiel nodded. “Yes, probably. Doesn’t really matter. It’ll heal in time. If I actually have any time.”

Gabriel’s expression set darkly again, and he nodded, reaching out a hand to help Castiel over the window sill, to the top of a rickety metal fire escape outside. “I’m doing everything I can to make sure you have time, ol’ bean.”

Castiel squeezed his brother’s hand as he hobbled down the metal staircase behind him, trying to be quiet but mostly failing. “I’m sorry, Gabriel. I ruined everything for you.”

His older brother was silent, not answering at all until they reached the ground, where he pulled Castiel’s arm up over his shoulders again, trying to move him faster.

“Don’t think of it like that, Castiel. You didn’t ruin anything. At the end of the day I was a coward. I didn’t stand up for you, and people like you, against the City when I should have. I hoped working in the background, saving a few people here and there, would be enough. But it’s not.”

“It’s more than anyone else did.” 

“Didn’t save you though, did I?”

“Hey,” Castiel said, squeezing at Gabriel’s shoulder. “Don’t tell me that the world is so bleak even you ran out of jokes.”

They walked silently across a wide patch of grass, keeping to the shadows as best they could. Castiel realized they were near the clock tower; merely approaching it from a different angle than he was used to.

Gabriel didn’t let go of Castiel, positioning them both in front of the door while he reached over and knocked.

“Hey,” Gabriel said, while they waited. “What do you call two gay men in a snowball fight?”

Castiel blinked. “Uh…”

“Snow blowers.”

Despite the pain in his leg, the fear in his chest and the awfulness of the joke, Castiel hung his head and grinned. “You’re terrible.”

The door to their right popped open, and they both quickly slipped inside. The steep steps down to the bottom were difficult, with Gabriel all but carrying Castiel on his back down the last few, much to Castiel’s annoyance. Once they arrived in the long, low stone corridor that travelled under the city, Gabriel piped up again.

“Dad used to say that living with women is a pain in the neck, but I guess you’re gonna tell me that living without them is a pain in the ass...”

“Gabriel—”

“Why is it so hard for women to find sensitive, caring men? Because those men already have boyfriends.”

Despite himself, Castiel chuckled. “Gabriel, your jokes are terrible. Even when you’re trying to make them gay jokes.”

Gabriel fell quiet, but only for a moment. “Sorry,” he said as they continued down the pitch-black hallway. “I kinda suck at talking about real stuff, you know that.”

“So, the best thing you can come up with is jokes about my ass?” Castiel smirked, even though Gabriel couldn’t see it.

“Yours, or Dean’s?”

“Okay, that’s really enough.” Castiel was able to let go of Gabriel, using the too-close walls of the stone corridor to support himself as he hopped along.

“You’re so boring, I joke about my sex life all the time!”

“Yes, and we all hate it.”

“How was I born into such an uptight family?”

“Can we talk about something sensible?” Castiel tried.

“Do we have to?”

“What are you going to do, Gabriel?”

“I don’t know.” Gabriel sighed dramatically. “I’m trying to avoid thinking about it. When I get you outside of the walls, I’m going back to find Charlie. Once we have her out, I guess the rest is up to you guys. What are you going to do?”

“Can Charlie really get the  _ Nebesa _ out of port without the City knowing?”

“You’d be amazed what she can do,” Gabriel said, almost fondly. “Balthazar too, when he put his mind to it. I’m really sorry about Balth, Cassie. I know you miss him. I just didn’t realize in time that he—”

“It’s not your fault,” Castiel interrupted firmly.

They lapsed into silence once more, travelling on in the dark.

Eventually, after what seemed like hours to Castiel’s sore, stiff leg, Gabriel came to an abrupt halt in front of him.

“Alright, here it is,” Gabriel said.

Castiel sensed him crouching down and heard him groping around for something on the floor.

“Here’s what?” Castiel asked, curious.

Something large, fabric and heavy was shoved into Castiel’s arms.

“I believe this is your bag?” Gabriel asked. “It had one of the tunnel keys in it, anyway. Controllers picked it up when Zachariah first had you brought in, I stole it from the evidence room. Needed the key.”

Castiel found himself grinning, suddenly. “Gabriel—Thank you. This means a lot more to me than you realize.” He hugged the duffle bag close to his chest. He didn’t care about the clothes or supplies inside, but he did care about the book Dean had given him; hopefully the copy of  _ The Sirens of Titan _ would be tucked inside, wrapped in a shirt right where he’d left it.

“Yeah, well, I needed the key. Got a copy made, so there’s still one there for you now.” The shrugging outline of Gabriel’s shoulder came into view against the weak, pre-dawn light as he opened the door at the end of the tunnel.

Castiel limped out into the sandy, desolate world beyond the walls. He turned to Gabriel, grinning. “We made it… I made it. Thanks to you.”

Dropping the duffle bag down for a moment, they exchanged a brief, suitably brotherly hug.

“Alright,” said Gabriel, pulling away. “I’m going to go and try and get Charlie. My best chance for that is in the commotion when they realize you’re gone, when the Controllers come to get you for your execution,” he mused. “That’ll be in about six hours.”

“What should I do until then?”

Gabriel winked, and pointed across the sand to a familiar shallow hill in the distance, overlooking a ravine. Two figures were running down the hill in their direction.

“Spend some time with lover-boy and bro, I suppose.”

Castiel grinned widely, pulling Gabriel in for another quick hug. “Be careful, Gabe. Please.”

Gabriel nodded, before turning to duck back into the city.

The sound of running feet through dust and gravel behind him caused Castiel to turn, a smile already plastered onto his face. Grabbing his duffle bag in one hand, Castiel hobbled his way gingerly across the sandy ground, helping to close the distance.

“Cas!” Dean called, pushing to a sprint and reaching him ahead of Sam. He threw his arms around Castiel, who dropped the duffle bag on the floor to embrace him back.

“Dean,” Castiel said, into the shoulder of the dirty, jail-stained white overshirt that Dean wore. “I’m so glad you’re okay. How long have you been out here, waiting?”

“Too damn long,” Dean said, squeezing him tighter. “Didn’t know where you were. Your brother said he’d get you, but—” Dean cut off sharply, pulling back a little and touching his fingers lightly to the dried blood at Castiel’s temple. “—Cas, baby, what did they do to you?”

Castiel opened his mouth to respond but closed it again as Sam approached. Dean and Castiel slowly parted, Castiel turning to Sam as he arrived beside them.

“Hello, Sam.” Castiel struggled to look at Sam, weighted by shame. He forced his eyes up, wanting to say so many things but not sure where to begin. 

“Hey, Cas.” Sam offered quietly. He stepped up to Castiel, but rather than offer him a hand or hug, he reached for his duffle bag on the floor, hoisting it to his shoulder. Turning, he began to make his way quietly away from them, toward the hill.

Castiel watched after him, guilt overwhelming him.

“Hey,” Dean’s hand came back to Castiel’s shoulder, squeezing. “He’ll be okay. Just give him some space. I told you, he doesn’t really blame you, it’s just—”

“I know,” Castiel interrupted, smiling sadly. “I don’t blame him for not wanting to be around me, Dean.”

Dean visibly bit back an objection. He sighed, before turning to slide his arm carefully around Castiel. “You’re limping. What happened?”

“Baton to the knee,” Castiel gestured vaguely. “I think they fractured my kneecap, but it’ll be fine.”

Dean frowned. “Let’s get away from the wall, up on the hill. Will you let me look at it?”

Castiel nodded, leaning into Dean as he helped him walk. “Sure. Like I said though, it’ll be fine.”

“I think we have different definitions of fine,” Dean grumbled, but he didn’t say anything else as they made their way steadily through the rocks and dead bushes. Dean took almost all of Castiel’s weight across his shoulders, leaving him to hop gently through the sand.

Castiel couldn’t help but smile to himself. Dean was protective of the people he cared about at the best of times; he had a feeling Dean would have just carried him up the hill bridal style if he didn’t know that Castiel would have fought him every step of the way.

They made it to the top slowly. By the time they reached the flat peak of the hill, the grey light of pre-dawn was beginning to brighten, making shadows from the boulders that littered the gritty ground. Sam had already placed Castiel’s bag near the biggest boulder, where there were a few blankets stacked and another small bag of supplies; from Gabriel, Castiel assumed.

Sam made the effort to give Castiel a small smile as they all assembled in front of the boulder. He returned it, and for a moment they stood awkwardly, Dean looking back and forth between them like he wasn’t sure whether to squish them together or hold them apart.

“I’m pretty tired after running down that hill,” Sam finally said, before clearing his throat gracelessly. “I think I’m going to take a couple of the blankets—” He paused, grabbing a new looking green one and a thick brown one that Castiel seemed to recall came from Gabriel’s living room. “—and go take a walk for a ways, see if I can find somewhere private to nap. Give you two a little space.”

“Sam—” Castiel said pausing brokenly. “I’m so sorry. I never meant—”

“I know, Cas.” Sam nodded, but did a poor job of hiding the pained expression on his face. “It’s okay.”

It was the furthest thing from okay, they all knew, but all Castiel could do was nod.

“We’re good.” Sam said, bundling up the blankets under his arm once more. “Really. I’m just gonna go and let you two have some time, while you can.” He turned, not waiting for a response, and began to walk down the other side of the hill, away from them.

Castiel turned to Dean, smiling miserably. Dean reached out and squeezed at Castiel’s hand, gently, before grabbing one of the remaining blankets, which was red and quite possibly belonged to Gabriel's’ wife, and spreading it on the sand next to the boulder.

“Sit down, Cas,” he instructed gently. “Lemme take a look at you.”

Castiel didn’t like to be fretted over, but he knew Dean wouldn’t give up. So, he eased himself down to the plush blanket, straightening out his leg. His gaze fell over the slowly brightening ravine, and he gave a small, humorless laugh.

“What?” Dean asked, looking at him curiously as he sat down next to him, pulling over the bag of supplies that Gabriel must have given them when he brought them from the jail.

“We’re about to watch the sunrise again,” Castiel pointed out, raising a hand to indicate the distant horizon. “Sorry that it’s a bit less romantic this time. And that I messed up the first one.”

Dean settled down, legs crossed, and gently pushed Castiel’s hair, greasy from blood and the dampness of his jail cell, back from his forehead. “We already talked about that, okay? We’re good.”

Castiel nodded. “I know, but still.”

Dean nodded, pulling a flask of water and a small first aid kit from the bag. “Luckily for you, Gabriel pretty much assumed one or all of us would be in rough shape after being in custody, so he at least gave us the basics to work with.”

Castiel took a few grateful gulps from the offered flask, before handing it back. Dean took it and used some to dampen a cotton pad, and gently began to clean the dried blood from Castiel’s temple, angling his body so they almost faced each other.

“What happened?” Dean asked, throwing one bloodied cotton pad as far as he could out into the sand before pulling another from the first aid kit. “Were you this hurt before? In the court complex? I didn’t—”

“Dean, I’m fine,” Castiel comforted. “And no, I wasn’t. I think what I said in the courtroom pissed them off. They knocked me out and then I guess one of them got a little baton-happy when they had me back in my cell.”

Dean squinted curiously as he softly ghosted a thumb over Castiel’s cleaned temple. “What did you say in the courtroom?”

Castiel flushed a little. Dean caught the expression on his face and raised an eyebrow, so with a sigh, Castiel recounted everything that had happened in the courtroom while Dean applied some healing salve to his wrists.

“You said what?!” Dean exclaimed, grinning widely as he gently soothed the sores Castiel’s handcuffs had left. “Dude, I wish I’d been there to see that. And hey, anytime you want to get fucked in a courtroom, you just let me know.”

Castiel ducked his head down, chin to his chest, feeling his cheeks heat. “That was crude of me. I just… I got mad.”

Dean chuckled. “Well, in the worst segue ever, I’m going to have to ask you to take your pants off. In the non-sexy way,” he explained, indicating Castiel’s knee.

“I don’t think there’s much to be done for it, Dean,” Castiel said. He lifted his hips regardless, and Dean helped him wiggle out of the crumpled remains of the dress pants he’d been put in for his court appearance.

The knee was almost entirely black and purple now, swollen obscenely.

Dean winced. “That’s gotta hurt.”

“It does,” Castiel admitted. “Walking through the tunnel from the clock tower didn’t do much to help it.”

With gentle hands, Dean applied a decent amount of bruise cream from the first aid kid to the darkened areas, wincing apologetically as Castiel hissed aloud in pain. “I’m sorry baby, almost done,” he murmured, reaching back into the first aid kit for a small syringe. “Only got a few of these healing syringes, but one every hour or two should really help.”

Castiel nodded, gritting his teeth as Dean pushed the needle into his skin as quickly as he could, rubbing the spot with his thumb soothingly when he was done.

“That’s about all I can do, I’m afraid,” Dean said, shoving the first aid kit back into the bag.

“That was plenty, Dean.” Castiel smiled. “You’re sweet, when you’re concerned.”

Dean gave Castiel one of his cockiest grins, turning to sit beside him. Pulling over the final blanket from the pile next to them, he flicked it over their laps as he winked. “I’m fucking adorable.”

Castiel laughed, and couldn’t help but reach forward to pull Dean’s face to his.

He responded instantly, pressing his lips to Castiel’s with a tiny laugh of his own.

“That little thing is all I get for a birthday kiss?” Castiel asked, teasing.

Dean blinked. “It’s… it’s your birthday?”

“No, but it was. Last week, I think… I’m not quite sure what the date is. Sometime while I was in solitary, anyway.”

“Oh, Cas,” Dean said, sounding both sad and angry. “I’m so sorry you had to spend your birthday in a jail cell. That’s so fucking wrong.”

Castiel shrugged, reaching up to run a thumb along the heavy, blond stubble that covered Dean’s cheek. “It’s okay. Would rather have spent it with you, but stuff like that seems rather insignificant right now.”

“Well.” Dean smiled wolfishly, leaning into speak against Castiel’s lips. “Your birthday present might be a bit late, but you can still have one.”

“I’m just glad to see you again. Thought I wouldn’t, for a bit back there.”

“Yeah, me too, Cas.” Dean leaned in the rest of the way, scooping one hand beneath Castiel’s jaw to guide them as he kissed him deeply. “I missed you.”

“Me too,” Castiel hummed breathlessly against Dean’s lips, “so don’t stop kissing me, please. I seem to have made the mistake of falling in love with one of those ridiculously cocky bad-boys that can’t be held down. So, I’m going to take advantage while I can.”

Dean pulled back, laughing openly. “Oh really? So that’s what you think of me, huh?”

Castiel grinned. “A little, at least.”

“Alright, the cocky part is true, I’ll give you that.” Dean shifted, moving the blanket he’d tucked around their waists so that he could carefully kick one knee over Castiel’s stretched out legs, lowering himself gingerly to Castiel’s bare thighs. He watched for any adverse reaction, before pulling the blanket back around them. “The rest isn’t true though.”

“Oh?” Castiel tilted his head, sliding his arms around Dean’s hips as he settled in his lap. He shifted his leg just a little to ensure his knee was comfortable, before leaning in to kiss Dean again.

Dean allowed the kiss to continue for several moments, more than happily from the content sounds he made, before pulling back to poke gently at Castiel’s chest. “I’ll have you know that I’m pretty freakin’ easy to hold down. Damned domestic, actually. You’re stuck with me now, buddy, so don't plan to ever leave.”

“Who says I want to?”

Dean’s eyes moved so slowly over Castiel’s face that he almost shied away from it, feeling like Dean was memorizing every wrinkle and newly gained scar. “Then don’t,” he said simply, leaning in to kiss him again.

Their lips were familiar by now, warm and ready to welcome each other with puffs of breath and soft slips of velvety tongues. Dean pressed into Castiel, one hand to each side of his face as he pushed his emotions into their kiss; fiery and slick and needy. He gave just as much as he took, and Castiel felt his cheeks and chest heating rapidly, his cock thickening in the small, tight space that having Dean in his lap left him with.

Dean didn’t pull back when he was done, just transferring his attention to Castiel’s jaw, and then his throat, before heading up to his ear. His breath hit Castiel’s skin, hot and damp, and his voice was a deprived, vibrating whine. “I need you, Cas.”

Castiel let out a shuddering breath, his eyes closing briefly as he rested his head back against the boulder behind him, though he opened them again only moments later, not wanting to miss a thing. Dean lavished him with attention, devouring his skin like it was sweet, rather than the salt and sweat Castiel knew it must taste of. He let out a low curse as he felt Dean’s hand trailing down his stomach.

“If your leg wasn’t smashed up,” Dean said close to Castiel’s ear, “I’d lay you out on this blanket and make love to you like something from a really terrible romance story. Instead, we’ll have to make do, and you can let me do that another time.”

Using only the palm of his hand, Dean reached down between them and applied a tantalizing pressure to Castiel’s cock through his underwear, skimming over it teasingly. When he reached the base, he scooped his hand down under Castiel’s balls, massaging them carefully as he watched Castiel with hooded eyes.

Castiel let out an involuntary moan at the sensation, soft and low.

“Is this okay?” Dean questioned, repeating the entire motion again. He leaned in to press a kiss to the very corner of Castiel’s mouth, leaving his lips flush against his skin, but giving him space to respond, to tell him what he wanted.

“More than okay,” Castiel said. His voice was a little shaky already, which probably should have been embarrassing, but he was having far too good a time to care. “There’s nothing better than you touching me, I swear.”

Castiel slid his hands from Dean’s hips further up his back, burying them under his shirt so that he could trail his fingers up Dean’s spine to his shoulder blades. Dean gave a low hum of pleasure at the sensation, so Castiel repeated it, pressing his fingers a little harder, allowing his nails to drag just a little against the skin. The muscles of Dean’s back rolled and contracted beneath his touches, practically quivering under the pads of Castiel’s fingertips.

“Oh man,” Dean said, pulling back from him enough to let his head loll back with a moan, “that feels amazing, Cas. Don’t stop.”

Castiel grinned. He was delighted that despite his lack of experience by comparison, he still seemed able to draw the most delicious sounds out of Dean. He reached a little further around Dean with his left hand, scraping slowly down his spine with his fingertips while his other hand swiftly untied Dean’s pants. Dean responded immediately, rising up on his knees so that Castiel could pull them down his thighs.

Shuffling carefully, not wanting any sudden pain from his knee to spoil this, Castiel raised his hips and shuffled his own underwear down, pushing the elastic back behind his balls in the little space they had.

Both of their hot erections open to the air, Dean watched Castiel hungrily as he slowly licked down his palm. He wet his hand as best he could before reaching to grasp at Dean loosely, pumping teasingly up and down Dean’s solid length. Dean leaned back in towards him, searching for his lips, and Castiel swallowed down the moan that Dean filled his mouth with.

Eye to eye, gazing at each other blue to green, they were quiet for a few minutes. The air was full of their quiet pants and the sliding sounds of their spit-slick palms gliding over each other. Dean’s hips made delicious, involuntary little jerks in Castiel’s lap, and he couldn’t help but push up at Dean’s shirt, encouraging him to pull it off so that he could see and feel even more of him.

Dean needed barely a hint, briefly releasing Castiel’s throbbing cock just long enough to rip his shirt off, before going straight back to pulling firmly at him, using his thumb to add a little pressure right beneath the head.

Castiel hissed and groaned out loud, digging his fingers into Dean’s flank. “Oh, god that feels so good…” he admitted breathlessly, leaning his head against Dean’s chest for a moment. He felt Dean’s low laugh reverberating through his ribcage.

“Perks of being with a man.” Dean grinned quietly, reaching to tilt Castiel’s face back up towards him. “I’m much more likely to know what feels good.”

They fell into a deep kiss, broken only by Dean’s heady grunt when Castiel added a little twist on his upstroke. Eyes wide, Dean bit down on his lower lip, nodding encouragingly.

“Good?” Castiel asked with a smirk.

“Fuck yes,” Dean said, panting shamelessly. “No complaints, holy shit…”

Castiel chuckled quietly, spitting down onto his hand and reaffirming his grip. “I’m glad. Seeing you get worked up is honestly the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Mmm, same.” Dean practically purred, before he reached his other hand down between them, his eyes sparkling mischievously as he trailed his lips down Castiel’s neck. He wrapped one fist around the head of Castiel’s cock, squeezing and twisting rhythmically, while his other hand sped up, pumping faster at his shaft.

“Ahhh!” Castiel cried out, arching his back and pressing back into the boulder once more. “Oh God, Dean, if you keep that up I’m gonna—”

“Tell me you love me,” Dean said, nipping softly at the hinge of Castiel’s jaw.

“Fuck—Dean, seriously, I’m—”

“Come on, baby, just for me,” Dean whispered next to his ear. “Say it.”

“Shit, ahhh—” Castiel struggled to breathe. “I—”

“You can do it,” Dean crooned, his grin practically devilish against Castiel’s neck.

Castiel’s hands came up to grab desperately at Dean’s shoulder blades, all pretense of rhythm and poise long forgotten. “Fuck!” he hissed out desperately.

“Nuh-uh,” Dean teased, adding a little more pressure to the squeeze of Castiel’s head. “That’s not what I wanted you to say.”

Castiel could feel his heartbeat in his ears as his balls tightened, his stomach muscles tensing. He fought against the feeling for another moment before it overtook him, stronger than his willpower could possibly be with Dean writhing in his lap.

“Oh!” Castiel gasped, his nails digging little half-moons into Dean’s shoulder blades. “Oh fuck—I love you, I love you, Oh, shit—I love you,” he gasped weakly, releasing forcefully across his stomach and Dean’s still-squeezing knuckles.  

He exhaled heavily, dropping his head forward onto Dean’s shoulder. “I love you, you asshole.”

Dean laughed.

Allowing Castiel a minute to catch his breath, Dean reached down to wrap a hand around his own neglected, but still twitching, cock. “You’re gorgeous when you’ve just come, did you know that?”

Castiel laughed. “Not a clue, going to take your word for it, Casanova,” he said. “I feel like a sweaty mess, but whatever does it for you.”

“Maybe,” Dean allowed, leaning in to capture Castiel’s lips once more. “But a damned hot mess.”

Castiel couldn’t help but laugh against his lips, feeling lighter than he had for weeks. “How do you do that?”

“What?” Dean asked, his breath catching as his hand increased in pace, devouring Castiel with his eyes as he jerked.

“Make me feel like there’s nothing outside of the two of us, even when everything is going to shit.”

Dean’s smile softened. “And here I was, thinking I was the smooth one.”

“It’s true.” Castiel couldn’t help but grin. As his heartbeat levelled out back to normal and his breathing eased, he slid his hands along Dean’s thighs, encouraging him to lift up onto his knees.

As Dean tugged and twisted faster at his cock, his spare hand carding through Castiel’s thick hair, Castiel leaned forward, trailing his lips and tongue along Dean’s hip bone. He kissed inward, burying his nose in the dark blonde curls that surrounded the base of him.

Slowly, Castiel reached up to catch Dean’s hand, looking up at him from beneath his eyelashes as he pulled it out of the way. He trailed his kisses up Dean’s shaft, slightly surprised but delighted at how hot his flesh felt beneath his lips.

Dean looked down at him with a heated grin. Their eyes met, and Castiel gave a kiss, and then an experimental lick to the weeping tip of Dean’s cock.

“Can I?” Castiel asked, working his tongue around Dean’s head. The first drop of salty, watery pre-come hit his taste buds, and Castiel gave a surprised hum of pleasure.

“Fuck, yes, please…” Dean groaned low in his throat, reaching forward with both hands so that his weight was taken by the boulder above Castiel’s head. Dean gazed down at Castiel hungrily, his head hanging down between his arms, carefully holding his hips still as Castiel explored with his tongue.

Castiel took a breath and wrapped his lips around Dean, knowing the view that he must have right now; Castiel looking up from under his eyelashes as his lips stretched obscenely, taking his cock inch by inch.

Dean moaned, a long, wordless sound as Castiel experimented, seeing how much of Dean’s length he could fit. He was surprised he could take so much; but then, Castiel had never really had much cause to consider his gag reflex before. Dean seemed pleased, looking down at him with wide eyes.

Castiel didn’t have any experience of his own to draw on; he’d been a virgin in every sense until he met Dean, but he hadn’t been joking when he’d mentioned that he had friends with dirty mouths. Balthazar had never been shy about describing his sexual encounters, and what once was vaguely uncomfortable to hear during his best friend’s long sessions of oversharing, was now quite useful.

Holding his gaze, Castiel hollowed out his cheeks and swallowed.

Dean keened above him, his hips jerking. His cock snapped forward for a moment, bumping against the back of Castiel’s throat. It wasn’t the most pleasant feeling, but Castiel didn’t gag. Instead, he slowly slid his mouth from around Dean, popping off him with an obscene noise that made Dean give a little whimper.

He grinned up at Dean, glad that he had something to offer Dean beyond his eagerness.

“Shit, Cas.” Dean panted, a bead of sweat slowly trickling down the side of his temple. “Your mouth feels amazing, fuck…”

“I’m glad,” Cas said, settling himself back against the boulder. He pulled Dean suggestively forward. “I’m not fragile, y’know, and I don’t have much of a gag reflex. You won’t break me if you move.”

As Dean’s face began to light with his understanding, Castiel grabbed at his hips and tugged him closer, opening his mouth and sliding Dean down the length of his tongue, back into his throat. He looked up at Dean, red-faced and panting above him, pushing alluringly at Dean’s hips with his fingers.

“Oh, oh fuck, Cas—” Dean was cautious at first, pushing into Castiel’s mouth slowly, smoothly. But as Castiel gazed back up at him unerringly, his fingers spread to grasp at Dean’s ass, he slowly lost control.

Hips bucking, panting wildly, Dean kept one hand on the rock for support and the other came down to tangle in Castiel’s hair as he fucked into his face, keening out noises that made Castiel’s already spent cock twitch valiantly. He was beautiful to look up at; Castiel did his best to relax his jaw and breathe through his nose, swallowing against the choking sensations that rose as Dean pounded into him, coming undone above him.

“Cas!” Dean gasped, pulling back so suddenly that Castiel jolted in surprise. 

He didn’t need to ask Dean what the issue was, however, as Dean’s open-mouthed, desperate expression told him everything he needed to know. Dean keened desperately, squeezing his eyes tight shut as he moved back down to Castiel’s lap.

Fisting frantically at his cock, Dean pressed their foreheads together. His chest heaved, one final, trembling gasp, and then he came, splattering them both.

He continued to slowly stroke his way through it, and Castiel’s hand came up to cover his almost automatically. They worked together, teasing out the last thick, heavy drops until Dean finally gave a tiny, sensitive twitch, and stopped.

“I love you, Cas,” he said into Castiel’s cheek, before slumping forward into his chest with a soft laugh. “Holy hell, love… I did not expect that.”

Castiel grinned, nuzzling into the side of Dean’s face and pressing kisses along his skin. “It’s nice to feel like I can offer something. Not that I think anything has been bad, but…” he pulled back, feeling a little awkward. “I know I don’t have the knowledge you do. Or the experience—”

Dean shushed him, immediately. “Don’t even start saying stuff like that, Cas.” He smiled, turning his head on Castiel’s shoulder to face him, and bringing Castiel’s face back close so that he could press his lips to his nose. “Even if I hadn’t fallen head over heels for you like I have, sex with you has been amazing so far. And it’s only going to get better.”

Castiel wrapped Dean in his arms. “Has anyone ever told you that underneath all that rebel charm, you’re actually a giant sap?”

“Shhh,” Dean mumbled into his neck. “It’s a secret, don’t tell.”

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

Almost eight hours had passed before Dean, Sam, and Castiel allowed themselves to admit that Gabriel wasn’t coming back.

Castiel sat on the wrinkled red blanket near the rock, still, having just received a fresh healing shot from Dean. His leg was improving over the hours under Dean’s insistent care, but putting weight on it was still iffy. He hugged his other knee, staring off into space across the ravine, where the long-risen sun beat down on the red rocks.

Next to him was Dean, reaching across to rub soothing circles between Castiel’s shoulder blades. He offered the only comfort he could, silently.

It was Sam that spoke up eventually, breaking the quiet that had slowly descended around them over the past couple of hours.

“He’s probably fine, Cas. Just running late.”

“Don’t,” said Castiel. He turned his head, slowly looking at Sam with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I didn’t mean… My whole life has been lies. I’d rather have hard truths now, I think.”

Sam nodded understandingly. “Right.”

Dean cleared his throat. “We need a plan of our own. But maybe we should take some time to…” His eyes slid over nervously to Castiel, clearly sad for him.

“No.” Castiel said.

“No?” Dean asked carefully.

Castiel wasn’t sure what came over him, but he felt his shoulders set and his resolve furrow down in his chest, somehow angrier now than he’d been even when it was his own life in the crosshairs.

“I’m going to make a plan. I’m going to find Gabriel, and Charlie, and I’m going to get out of here. To one of the nearby trading bases, or some other world entirely. But not here. I’m done with here.”

Dean watched Castiel with his forest-green eyes opened wide, one corner of his mouth curving crookedly into a smile. “You are, huh?”

Castiel nodded, determined, before forcing a grin onto his face. “What about you, Dean? Sam? Feel like a little rebellion?”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. Sam slowly smiled, the brightest Castiel had seen his face since they’d jovially passed in the hallway of the Winchesters’ apartment weeks ago, when he’d first stayed the night with Dean, when Eileen was still alive.

Dean’s grin was more pronounced, excited, and fondly proud. “Hell yeah, Cas. We’re right here with you.”

“So.” Castiel stretched, arching his back with a resounding crack. Leaning against a rock, it turned out, wasn’t the most kind to the spine. “Plan. We need a way into the jail, without getting caught, a way to get Charlie, Gabriel, and whoever else we can, out of the jail—again, without getting caught—and then a way for all of us to access the shipyard beyond the city, so we can get Charlie to the nav desk. If we can get the  _ Nebesa _ , I can both pilot her and keep her under their scanners as much as I can until we’re well clear. All part of my glorious, City approved training.”

“I’ve got a great right hook,” Dean offered.

“Probably not the winner here, love, but thank you.”

“Can shoot a tin can at fifty paces.”

“Again…”

Dean pouted. “Fine.”

With a sigh, Castiel patted Dean fondly on the arm. “I promise if there’s anyone to shoot, you can do it. And we’ll even tell people you were blindfolded.”

“Yeah, if you guys could just… maybe not flirt, for like, ten minutes?” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “That would be great.”

While Castiel had the good graces to flush a little, Dean didn’t seem to share any part of it, reaching over to smooch Castiel loudly on the cheek instead, winking at Sam.

“The shipyard access, and maybe even the jail access… we probably know someone who could do that, right, Dean?” Sam continued, ignoring it. Instead he turned to look squarely at his brother, a glint in his eye.

Dean shifted, looking uncomfortable, but didn’t respond.

“Dean?” Castiel turned to his left so that he could regard Dean straight on, eyebrow raised. “You know someone?”

“I guess, technically.” Dean sighed.

“Then let’s go,” Castiel said, already beginning to struggle to his feet. “We don’t have time to waste. Let’s find this person and go from there.”

“Woah, woah—” Dean held up a hand, before scrambling up to grab at Castiel as he wobbled on one leg. “At ease, soldier. We need to think about this a little more, your leg isn’t holding weight—”

“So, we’ll bind it,” Castiel argued.

“And it’s the middle of the day—”

“All the better for hiding in the crowds.”

“And you don’t even know where we’re—”

“Then you lead.”

Dean sighed again. “You’re a stubborn son of a bitch, have I mentioned that?”

Castiel squinted across at Dean angrily, folding his arms.

“Which… is adorable,” Dean corrected, taking a small step back. “Cute as a button. Alright, Commander, we’ll jump.”

Castiel shook out his shoulders, deliberately trying to release some of the tension he was holding in them. “I’m sorry, Dean. I don’t mean to be a, uh, ‘stubborn son of a bitch’, as you put it. But they have my brother, and they took you and Sam, and they have my friend Charlie, and probably so many other innocent people. I was ignorant for so long, and then I didn’t stop to think that maybe I could do something about it. Now, I realize I have to try.”

Dean reached across, affectionately pushing Castiel’s hair back from his forehead. “Okay, Cas. You’re the boss, dude. Just maybe lemme bind your leg up best we can, first?”

Begrudgingly, Castiel allowed Dean to lean him back against the large boulder while he dug around in the small first aid kit Gabriel had obtained, finding some stretchy bandages. Sam quietly began to roll up their blankets and shove what little they had into their bags.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said quietly as he watched Dean bind his knee as tight as possible, gritting his teeth with a hiss as Dean pulled. “I didn’t mean to—”

Dean looked up at him, grinning. “Cas, you know why they trained you as a Commander, right? You’re pretty commanding. It’s fine. More than fine.”

After another few minutes, the three men were ready; Castiel could walk, in a fashion, and they had exchanged their jail-stained clothing for some of the clean items Castiel had packed in his duffle. They left their belongings stashed under a small rocky overhang in the cliffside. They took one bag, with a few supplements, water, and first aid supplies.

The kitchen knife that Castiel had taken from his home in his duffle bag, brought out to the wasteland by Gabriel, was tucked securely into his boot.

“We should obtain some better weapons,” Castiel said calmly, placing his Vonnegut almost reverentially inside the bag before closing the top.

Sam took the bag from him, throwing it onto his shoulder. “That won’t be a problem, Cas. As long as we can get back into the city, we can get armed to the teeth.”

Castiel nodded, and they began to make their way back to the wall.

**~~***~~**

 

Dean and Castiel stayed close (though carefully not  _ too _ close, of course,) with Sam bringing up the rear as they made their way through the crowded streets of the Glass City. It was just after lunch; Academy classes were about to be in session, work was about to resume for many, and the walkways swarmed with people hustling from one destination to the next. It was easy to melt into the crowd, hiding amongst them.

Castiel was surprised that they weren’t headed for the warrens; he had supposed that anyone dealing in identities, illegal weapons and barcodes would be based out of the Unassigned slum below the market district. But, it seemed he was wrong.

Dean led them out past the infirmary, down into a district of well respected buildings; Hannah’s workplace, the Shurley Accounting firm, was in these streets, as was Balthazar’s family’s design company. The building they headed to was very tall, the gleaming glass polished inside and out. It was almost entirely transparent, only a few rooms clustered at the center having solid, plasterboard walls. The rest of the employees were forced to work in the open, as was normal in the city. Enforcing honesty, integrity and trust, the City said.

_ So they can watch our every move, _ Castiel thought.

It was to the central core of rooms that Dean led them, not stopping to greet anyone on the way, until he reached the desk closest to the door that could not be seen through.

“Dean!” the man perched behind the desk said, his surprise clear. “It’s been a while.”

“Hi, Max.” Dean’s smile was tight. “It has been a minute, hasn’t it. We don’t have an appointment, so just tell him it’s me and that I’ll make it worth his while.”

Max raised one dark eyebrow but nodded. He tapped a few carefully manicured fingers across his data screen, dragging a few blocks around that Castiel could only imagine must have been appointments.

“Okay,” he said after a moment. “I’ll take you in.”

He rose from the desk, crooking a finger to indicate they should stick with him. He used his barcode to open the solid wooden door and gestured for them to walk inside.

The door snapped shut behind them.

Castiel looked around, surprised to see a relatively plain, standard office. There were two other doors on the opposite side of the room, a small sofa and a huge, well-cared for plant dominating the corner of the room. A woman sat behind a simple desk, her blue eyes locked on a data screen in front of her. She looked extremely young, with long, waving blonde hair and, as she looked up at them, an astonishingly cold smile.

“Lili,” Sam greeted her with a tense nod. “Dean and I were hoping—”

“Dean and you and… who?” She asked, pointing at Castiel, folding her other arm across her chest as she reclined back in her seat. “Who’s the new, pretty one?”

“This is, uh—”

“This is my boyfriend, Castiel, and we’d like to see Crowley,” Dean cut through flatly.

Castiel jerked his gaze over to Dean in shock, biting back his automatic, fearful reaction to Dean calling him such a thing openly. Clearly Sam and Dean knew these people, though there didn’t seem to be any love lost between them. He just had to hope they knew what they were doing.

Instead he chose to focus on the warm, possessive thrum that being linked to Dean gave him in his chest, a fluttering of pride that soothed away a little of his nerves. He felt like he was in over his head, here, though he wasn’t quite sure why; other than the demeanor of the employees, nothing had seemed particularly untoward about this unmarked building, yet.

Lili, as Castiel assumed her name to be, stood from behind the desk. Rather than walking around it, she merely leaned over, craning her neck toward one of the unmarked doors at the back.

“Crowley! Meg!”

It only took a moment for the door to open. Castiel wasn’t sure what he expected, but the petite, smirking woman in tight, white pants and a loose white shirt that hung off one shoulder wasn’t it. She had mid-length, badly-dyed blond hair and a hungry, teasing gaze that settled on him immediately.

“Who’s this, boys? He’s new.” Her eyes landed on Castiel, her grin slightly predatory. She moved into the room, or waiting area as it seemed to be, leaving the door open behind her.

She made him uncomfortable. As if Dean could sense it, he stepped a little closer.

“His name is Castiel. Cas, this is Meg. A long time… associate, of ours.”

She snorted inelegantly. “The only one of us you’ve  _ associated _ with recently is Crowley, Dean. I just do the tattoos, you put it where you want,” she shrugged, her crude intimation obvious. “Though, if you want to revisit our little summer of love with those triplets from—”

“That’s enough, Meg,” Dean snapped. He shifted his eyes to the side, looking at Castiel as he added quietly, “And it wasn’t that recent.”

Dean’s association, or not, with these people wasn’t, however, what Castiel was currently focused on. “Tattoos?” He asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise. Surely, they didn’t dare—

“Barcodes, blue-eyes,” Meg purred, grinning viciously at him. “I do wonder how you’ll pay for yours.”

A strange accent came from the open doorway behind Meg. “Alright, down girl.”

The short, middle-aged, dark haired man that leaned on the doorframe would have been totally unassuming, if it wasn’t for the simple fact that he was outfitted in black, head to toe.

Castiel blinked.

“Crowley,” Dean greeted the man simply, stalking toward the doorframe without preamble. “Let’s talk.”

His lip curled with interest, Crowley danced his eyes up and down Castiel just once before he stepped aside, admitting Dean into the room behind, Meg close behind him. Castiel and Sam made to follow, but he held up one finger. “Not you,” he said simply, before stepping in and closing the door.

Castiel felt flustered, far too unsure of what was happening for his own liking. “Sam?” he asked, uncertainly.

“We wait,” Sam said, pointing to the small sofa Castiel had noted when he first came in.

So, they waited, perching on the edge of the couch in silence for a couple of minutes before Castiel decided to ask his questions.

“So, Crowley is—”

“Dean’s ex-boyfriend, of a sort, yeah.”

“Of a sort?” Castiel’s eyes lingered nervously on the door, though the simple tell made him feel childish and irritated.

“Fucked like bunnies,” Lili chimed in helpfully from behind her desk.

“Yes, thank you, Lili,” Sam said distastefully. He turned back to Cas, giving him a small smile. “I wouldn’t worry about anything. They’ve been nothing but business associates for a while now. Dean might be pretty free with his attention, or was, but when it comes down to it, he knows what he wants.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

“That’s between you and him, Cas.”

“What about Meg?”

“I believe she was involved, on occasion. Seems like she quite likes the look of you, though, so keep an eye out for that. She’s persistent.”

Castiel frowned. “She’s not assigned to somebody? He’s not?”

Sam’s chuckle was low and amused. “Of course they are, both ‘coded up citizens and all. Crowley’s wife, Eve, assigns children at the Infirmary. And Meg’s husband Azazel works for the City.”

“And what do Meg and Crowley do?”

“They deal in things no one else will touch.”

“Like fake barcodes.”

“Yup.”

Castiel huffed out a long breath. “Do I even want to ask how we’re going to pay for their help? My account is pretty well-filled, but I’m sure the City froze it weeks ago.”

“They don’t take that kind of payment, anyway.” Sam shrugged. “Dean will work out a deal. He’ll have something Crowley wants.”

Castiel turned his head, looking more squarely at Sam as he silently raised an eyebrow.

“Dean’s pretty stuck on you, Cas. I don’t think he’s gonna give Crowley what he really wants, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Sam smirked.

“You don’t think?”

Before Sam could respond, the door swung back open.  _ That was quick, _ Castiel thought, as he and Sam rose to their feet.

“Come on in, boys,” Crowley grinned. “Time for you to get some fresh ink.”

**~~***~~**

 

Castiel was in a pretty foul mood by the time Meg was done with him. His tattoo had taken the longest, as apparently it was much more difficult to amend a record to a new identity than to simply create a new one.

“Dean and Sam just need ghost codes, that’s easy,” Crowley purred. “But you’re already tatted up, so we need to change your identity and add new permissions.”

“Permissions?” Castiel had asked, keeping one eye on Meg, who seemed to be taking rather too much enjoyment in rolling up his shirt sleeve.

“Entrance to the City chambers and the shipyard.”

“What about the jail?” Sam had asked.

“On your own for that one, I’m afraid.” Crowley had shrugged. “The codes are rotated every twelve hours. There’s only one that can override them all, and that’s Zachariah’s.”

Crowley had leaned in then, whispering something to Dean that Castiel couldn’t hear. Sam had merely stood, impassive, while Meg slowly scraped away at his arm. She altered the thickness and number of lines that decorated Castiel’s inner forearm, her steadying hand caressing his elbow in a way he wasn’t entirely comfortable with.

By the time they stood, finished, Castiel was pretty close to punching someone or other; who, simply depended on who got close enough.

“And the rest?” Dean asked suddenly, turning back to Crowley.

He nodded, moving across to the other side of the room.

Crowley’s office turned out not to be very big, though it was quite opulent for a small space. It reminded Castiel uncomfortably of Zachariah’s, but with suggestive, poorly-painted art pieces rather than creepy, ornamental angels.

Across one wall some tall, locked cabinets ran. Crowley removed a small key from the breast pocket of the black vest he wore, opening the door of the cabinet furthest to the left. The interior was loaded with weapons; the names and weights and firing speeds of every one of them running through Castiel’s mind automatically as he looked at them, to his disgust. The city had trained more violence into him than he’d ever realized, until recently.

Crowley pulled out three small, black handguns and passed them to Dean, who gave one to Sam and one to Castiel. Next, Crowley pulled out several thick, Velcro-covered pieces of material that would wind around their stomachs, loops across the front and back filled with ready-to-go clips of ammo. They’d be concealed beneath the three men’s shirts, but easily accessed.

“I believe that was the deal,” Crowley said as they all wrapped the ammo into place and slipped their guns into their waistbands.

Dean nodded. “You held good to your part, assuming the barcodes work.”

“Have I ever let you down, squirrel?”

“Surprisingly, no.”

Crowley winked. “I’ll see you later then, boys. I’ll follow the noise.”

As Sam, Dean, and Castiel headed back out to the waiting room where Lili sat, waiting to let them out, Crowley called out behind them.

“Nice to meet you, Castiel. Been a while since we’ve had a Novak in here.”

Castiel blinked and opened his mouth, but Dean grabbed his elbow and urged him on to the exit. “He’s just trying to get under your skin, Cas. Go.”

Frowning, they made it outside the building and back onto the street, rushing along in the crowd before Castiel glanced at Dean, from the side of his eye.

“You could have warned me.”

“Yeah.” Dean seemed excessively tense, a nerve in his jaw jumping. “I probably should have said something.”

Castiel made a small noise of agreement as they pushed through a rush of people heading away from the center of the city, no doubt headed home to families and out with friends now that their work day was done.

Hidden amongst the throng, Dean grasped quickly at Castiel’s fingers, giving them a sharp squeeze before releasing them.

“Sorry,” Dean offered gruffly.

“It’s fine. It’s not really my business,” Castiel said graciously, though the odd, sour feeling that churned in his stomach didn’t quite agree with his mouth.

“Cas,” Dean’s voice was surprisingly understanding. “Everything about me is your business, okay? Just because there are parts of my past I’m not proud of, doesn’t mean I should hide them from you. I’m sorry if it came off like that. I just figured we didn’t really have time to get into it.”

Castiel managed a smile, sidestepping to avoid a woman with a trail of six children. “You’re right. We don’t have time to get into it. But—” Castiel took a second to firmly catch Dean’s eye, “—you should know that I’m quite possessive, and I don’t like people who don’t respect what’s mine.”

Dean’s grin was quite heated, catching Castiel by surprise as they made their way down the white marble steps that ringed the sunken plaza outside the City chambers.

“Yes, Commander,” he teased, giving Castiel a wink. “Loud and clear.”

Castiel felt his neck and chest heating below his collar, but he was thankfully distracted by Sam tapping at his elbow.

“Controllers on the right,” Sam murmured, and they all automatically swung left.

“What’s the plan when we’re in?” Dean asked, his eyes flicking back over as he deferred to Castiel.

“As long as these codes get us into the Chamber, we should see if we can get into Zachariah’s office,” Castiel said. “I’m unfortunately familiar with where it is. We should see if he has a manual key for the jail.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“I’ll think of something,” Castiel said darkly.

**~~***~~**

 

Getting inside the building was a breeze. Castiel held up his forearm to the pad next to the door, and it beeped contentedly, the glass parting with a smooth slide to admit him. The same went for Sam, and then Dean, bringing up the rear.

“Crowley and Meg are good,” Castiel said.

“I wouldn’t call them that,” Sam scoffed. “But they know their work.”

The public entrance to the City chambers was a large, gleaming room with vaulted ceilings and lines of desks, with assistance available for every question that a citizen could have.

Castiel ignored the desks however, leading Dean and Sam quietly across to the right of the room, where there was an elevator in the middle of the glass wall. They all looked at each other nervously as Dean stretched out his arm, scanning his glossy, if somewhat red, new tattoo against the pad.

Green light. Castiel let out a soft exhale of held breath. The elevator seemed to take a long time coming; the three of them stood in a small semi-circle around it, heads slightly bowed, trying to look deep in conversation but in actuality attempting to hide their faces from the inevitable cameras that covered the whole complex.

When it finally arrived, they moved inside swiftly. Once surrounded by solid walls and gliding smoothly upwards, they all took a second to look at each other and smile nervously. Getting into the public area below was, after all, the easy part.

Once they stepped into the hallway above, secreted away from the open, glass floors below, Castiel felt himself calming, focusing on the job, the threats, the possibilities, in a sharp, analytical way. The Academy trained every student to be a soldier at heart, no matter where they ended up; and it paid off then for Castiel, finding himself suddenly thrust into a covert operation he could never have expected.

The first hallway was graciously empty, as they had hoped for the time of day, but they weren’t so lucky with the second.

“Hey,” a voice called behind them, already laced with suspicion. “What are you doing up here? Do you have clearance?”

The Controller was tall, his shoulders wide, and he moved toward them with a frown. He held out a slim, handheld scanner pad.

“Scan for ID, please.” His words were polite, but his scowl and aggressive stance were not.

He approached Sam first.

Sam pushed up his sleeve slowly, reaching his arm forward, barcode down, toward the scanner. Before the red, denying beep came from the pad, the butt of Dean’s gun had already swung into the back of the Controller’s neck, at the top of his spine.

He dropped, wordlessly.

Dean grinned across at Castiel, giving him a little wink as he tucked the gun that Castiel hadn’t even seen him draw back into the waistband of his pants.

“That’s going to be on the cameras,” Sam said, already hooking his arms under the unconscious controller’s armpits and dragging him around the nearest corner. “We need to move.”

Dean and Castiel were already in motion, moving on up the hallway.

“The office is just up here,” Castiel said, pointing to the largest doorway at the end. “Find somewhere to stash him Sam, then loop back to the elevator. Can you manage any more that come?”

Sam gave a little grin that suddenly made him look a lot more like his older brother. “Sure can.”

Castiel and Dean sped up, jogging their way across to the heavy, paneled wooden door that led to Zachariah’s private office.

“What if he’s in here?’” Dean asked, only steps away.

“He shouldn’t be,” Castiel answered, sounding hopeful. “The Council is usually in session most of the afternoon, long after work hours finish.”

Dean nodded, and they pushed at the wooden door. It didn’t budge. Both of them eyed the scanner at the side of the door cautiously, before sharing a look.

_ Not a hope in hell, _ the look said.

“We could—” Dean began. He closed his mouth sharply as Castiel slid his gun from behind him, aiming squarely at the lock on the door.

“They’re going to know we’re here as soon as they look at the cameras,” Castiel pointed out. “We don’t have time for slower options.”

Dean nodded.

Castiel aimed, and with a series of sharp blasts around the handle of the door, the lock mechanism came loose.

They didn’t waste any time, pushing immediately inside.

“Tell me what I’m looking for Cas,” Dean said, heading immediately for the drawers at one side of the desk while Castiel started on the other.

“Keys, any keys would be a start,” Castiel said.

They searched for a few minutes, the eerie, opulent angel statues and biblical paintings that decorated the edges of the room watching them silently in judgement.

“There’s nothing here, Cas,” Dean said, frustration evident. “There has to be some kind of manual override for the jail somewhere, right? Some kind of key or—”

“No, actually,” came a soft voice from the doorway. “There doesn’t.”

Zachariah smiled coldly, using one hand to push the heavy office door back closed behind him, despite the shattered lock. His other hand was occupied with an ornately decorated silver revolver, which was trained on Castiel.

Castiel slowly raised his hands, straightening up from the desk. Dean was frozen, off to the side, ignored.

“I was in a very important Council session,” said Zachariah, “when my office alarm went off.” He held up his arm, the hand that didn’t have a weapon shaking to indicate his data watch. “What a surprise to find my two least-favorite deviants rifling through my belongings.”

“Shouldn’t be that much of a surprise, really,” Castiel said calmly. “Did you really think we’d just go quietly?”

“I certainly hoped,” Zachariah said dryly. “The less of your kind I have to put up with, the better.”

“My kind?” Castiel laughed. “What kind, humans? I guess putting up with me would be a struggle for you, as you don’t seem to have much humanity in you.”

As Castiel spoke and Zachariah stared angrily at him, Dean was slowly edging around the table, slipping one hand behind him where his gun was stashed in his waistband.

For a moment, Castiel thought Dean was going to make it.

“Enough.” Polite, crisp, and sickening, Zachariah’s words were punctuated by his arm swinging to the right, and the sound of a gunshot.

Dean made a gasping sound as he went down, knocked off his feet by the surprise of the bullet to his torso.

“No!” Castiel shouted, involuntary.

Dean’s sound and stumbling movement drew Zachariah’s eyes for just a split second; It was all Castiel needed to vault across the desk, swinging his legs over the exquisite leather surface to land firmly in the middle of Zachariah’s chest.

As Castiel’s boots, dusty and dirt covered from his hiking through the wasteland beyond the wall, hit Zachariah’s sternum there was a crunching sound that Castiel vaguely, in the back of his mind, registered as a rib or two breaking. A sharp flare of pain raced up his body from his injured knee, but he ignored it.

Zachariah staggered, and Castiel pressed on forward, a swift punch to the side of the man’s tanned, bald face knocking him back further. Another to the other side, another, another. Castiel pummeled Zachariah’s head until the man reeled backwards, slumping into the door.

Blood streaming from his nose, Zachariah cowered, his gun shaking. Castiel knocked the silver revolver from his hand with a sharp hit at his wrist, catching the weapon as it dropped and calmly spinning it into his own palm.

The gun rested above Zachariah’s upper lip, his head tilted back into the door as trickles of blood from Castiel’s punching dribbled around the barrel.

Castiel’s eyes flicked quickly to Dean. He saw just enough movement to reassure him that he’d survived, before turning his attention back to the vile Potentate.

“Repent, Castiel,” Zachariah wheezed out, full of false concern. “Return to the right path, you can still—”

“I thought I already told you people,” Castiel growled, “to  _ bite me. _ ”

Zachariah, finally, was silent.

“How can I get into the jail?” Castiel asked calmly, thumping the gun up against Zachariah’s face, his other arm across his throat, to punctuate his question.

“Can’t.” Blood was trickling into Zachariah’s mouth, and be feebly spit some out before clarifying. “There’s only one override barcode, and that’s mine.”

_ Fine,  _ Castiel thought, his eyes flicking down to the tattooed barcode that peeked out from Zachariah’s white suit sleeve.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t, Zachariah.” Castiel pointed out coldly. “You think I won’t exchange your life for all of those innocent people? One slimy, conceited dictator like you? You’re wrong.”

Zachariah’s eyes were widening.

Switching the silver gun to his other hand, keeping it pressed unflinchingly to the side of Zachariah’s face, Castiel reached down and slipped his hand into his boot. He drew out the long, serrated kitchen knife that he’d taken from his own kitchen, weeks before, as a makeshift weapon when he fled to the warrens.

Pressing the blade to the inside of Zachariah’s elbow, Castiel allowed the cold, calculating Commander he’d been trained to be take over.

“There’s still time to repent, Zachariah,” he said sweetly.

If Zachariah intended to make any sensible response, it was lost to his own screaming as Castiel began to saw.

Not wanting the Potentate’s agonized shrieks to draw a crowd of controllers, Castiel silenced them with one of Zachariah’s own bullets, right between his eyes.

He finished the job off quickly then, once the body had slumped to the floor. Castiel crouched awkwardly above it, his immobile leg stretched out to the side. He was calm, strategic, and silent as he cut off the lower half of Zachariah’s arm, using all his strength to saw through the joint.

“Wow, Cas.” Dean’s voice came weakly from the other side of the room. “You’re kinda terrifying.”

Throwing the knife to the floor, Castiel looked down. His hands were blood covered, his white clothing utterly soaked with red from the waist down. With the immediate danger past, a wave of dizziness overtook him, and for a moment he felt like he was going to throw up.

“Hey, hey—” Dean had one hand clamped across the side of his stomach, crimson and damp. He scooted across the floor, ending up kneeling next to Castiel, his other hand coming up to his shoulder. “It’s okay Cas. Breathe. You look like you’re having a panic attack.”

Castiel’s heart thudded, and his breath came in short spurts. “I think I might be, actually.”

“Breathe, I’ve got you.”

“I just killed the leader of the City.” Castiel blinked a few times, dazed, before his eyes landed on Dean’s stomach. “You’re—He shot you, are you—”

Castiel’s panic seemed to ratchet up a notch, but Dean reached out, catching one of his flailing hands in his own.

“I’m okay. He wasn’t looking directly at me, he didn’t aim too well. The bullet grazed me, I’ll be fine.”

Dean was pale and sweaty-looking, but Castiel didn’t feel there was much to be gained in pointing that out.

“We need to get out of here,” Castiel said. He looked back down at the immobile body next to them, gulping harshly. Hand trembling, he reached out and picked up the arm he’d sawed off. He dropped it down again, sickened. It landed in the pool of blood that had spread thickly all around them as Zachariah’s corpse bled out onto the hardwood floor.

“Here, we can—” Dean cut off, leaning over Zachariah. He took his hand from his stomach for a moment, reaching over to yank off the remains of Zachariah’s suit jacket.

Grimacing, Dean wrapped up the rogue appendage, so they didn’t have to look at it.

“Thank you,” Castiel said quietly. Dean still held his hand tight as they both struggled to standing. Looking down, as an afterthought, he reached across to where Zachariah’s silver pistol lay abandoned on the floor and settled it back into his hand.

“Come on, we gotta go find Sam,” Dean coaxed, clamping his palm back over the epicenter of the jarring red circle on his shirt. He slipped his other arm around Castiel, tucking him in to his side. They leaned on each other, Castiel limping and Dean curled over.

“When we get off this planet,” Castiel said, “we’re lying down for a week.”

“At least a month.” Dean grimaced.

“Deal.”

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

Sam dashed toward Dean and Castiel as soon as they came around the corner next to the elevator.

“Dean! Cas! What happened? I only left you guys alone for five minutes!” He sounded horrified, looking at the blood-soaked couple hurrying as best they could down the extravagant hallway, Castiel with a gun in hand and Dean with a rumpled bundle of fabric under his arm.

Dean let go of Castiel momentarily, his voice shaking slightly. “We’re fine, it’s fine. What happened out here?”

“Two more controllers, but they were easy,” Sam said, eyeing Dean’s red shirt distrustfully. “I can handle myself.”

“Yeah, so can Cas,” Dean said, looking sidelong at him.

Sam looked surprised.

“What?” Castiel said, glaring at them both. “Just because I don’t get into street brawls and I have a decent vocabulary doesn’t change the fact that I’m a soldier. I had the same military training as everyone else, you know.”

Dean shook his head. “We call all catch up later. This entire floor is going to be swarming with Controllers any second. We gotta move.”

“What did you do?” Sam said, looking panicked.

“Zachariah’s dead, we have his barcode, we need to find some stairs. We can’t go back through the lobby looking like this,” Dean said, looking around quickly.

“Uh…” Sam took a second to blink and process. “Right. Okay. Well. Stairs—this way. I actually stashed the Controllers who came looking in the stairwell as it didn’t look like it got used much.”

“Perfect,” Castiel said. “We’ll strip the controllers and get rid of these bloody clothes.”

“Great idea, Cas,” Dean grinned. “We’ll make a criminal of you yet.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m way past a criminal at this point.”

They hurried along as they spoke, Sam leading them to the other end of the corridor and pushing open a wooden swing-door with a small glass window in the top.

“Here,” Sam said, holding the door open for them. A simple metal staircase descended from the small landing they stood on. Piled inelegantly in the corner were three Controllers, two men and a woman.

Dean raised his eyebrow at them. “Did you kill them?”

“No!” Sam sounded affronted. “I just hit them hard enough that they probably won’t wake up for a few hours. Hopefully they won’t be too scrambled when they come around. In my defense, though, they did want to shoot me.”

Castiel and Sam moved over to the pile of knocked out Controllers, beginning to strip one man apiece while Dean rested against the balustrade, wincing.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Dean?” Castiel asked, frowning across at him as he unceremoniously yanked the uniform pants off the unconscious man. “You said the bullet only grazed you but—”

“I’m fine,” Dean said, a little too snappily.

Castiel scowled. “Dean Winchester, if you are—”

“I said I’m fine, okay, really. We don’t have time for this.”

That, at least, Castiel had to concur with. Nonetheless, controller uniform in hand, he limped across to Dean.

“At least let me help you,” he said quietly.

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Okay.” He smiled slightly ruefully, and Castiel thought he looked even paler than he had in the office. “Sorry,” he tacked on to the end, quieter.

“It’s okay,” Castiel said, and he meant it. The tension was getting to everyone.

Encouraging Dean to lean on his good side, Castiel helped Dean step into the white pants and get them zipped and buttoned. He then took the second pair from Sam and shimmied them on awkwardly over his tightly-strapped knee, while Dean winced and hissed, carefully unbuttoning his shirt.

Dean angled slightly away from Castiel as he dropped the bloodied shirt to the floor. Castiel wasn’t that easily fooled, however.

“Dean,” he said, voice low. “How bad is it? We at least need to stop you from bleeding through the new shirt.”

Sam still carried their single bag of supplies, and he dropped it off his shoulder to the ground and began to root through it. “We still have some of Gabriel’s bandages left, some gauze—”

“Dean!” Castiel gasped, angry. While Sam was talking, Dean had straightened up, revealing the dark, jagged hole to the left of his stomach.

“We have other problems,” Dean defended shakily. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Dean you have a  _ bullet _ in your stomach,” Castiel exclaimed. “I should be worried about you!”

“Alright, okay,” Sam interrupted. “Move over, let me get to it. Cas, get dressed okay?”

Castiel’s heart was in his throat, beginning to race again, but he took a deep breath, gritted his teeth and concentrated on getting the prone Controller’s shirt unbuttoned. Once he had it on himself, he reached down and picked up two of the controller’s hats, and their weapon belts and batons, for good measure.

“Can’t forget the accessories,” he pointed out, turning back to Dean and Sam.

Sam had a thick pad of gauze over the deep wound and was tucking in the ends of a white bandage that wrapped all the way around Dean’s middle.

“Best we can do for now,” Sam said quietly to Castiel, his concern evident. “I had to leave the bullet in, so he doesn’t bleed out. We don’t have any more supplies than this and I don’t have anything to stop the bleeding, I don’t know how long this will hold him—”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Dean grumbled.

Castiel ignored him, turning back to Sam. “We have to get him some real treatment—”

“Jail first,” Dean interrupted forcefully. “If you think I’ve come all the way here with you to not leave with you, and your brother, and Benny and the rest, then you are dead wrong.”

Castiel and Dean’s eyes met, and Castiel could feel his own face heating in frustration as they glared at each other.

“Can you two stop that, please,” Sam begged, squeezing his eyes shut dramatically.

“What, glaring?” said Castiel, confused.

“Yes!” said Sam. “You two have this whole furious-make-up-sex vibe going on when you get angry and I don’t want to think about that, thank you very much. Gross.” He gave an overly dramatic shudder. “Dean is a stubborn jerk, so he’ll end up doing what he wants anyway. Please let’s go.”

Dropping their eyes in embarrassment, Castiel and Dean exchanged one last, very half-hearted glare before following Sam down the stairs.

When they reached the bottom, they assembled in escort order; Sam walked next to Castiel with Dean on the far side, as if they were escorting Sam somewhere. Sam kept his head down, and they made their way back out into the bustling lobby of the Council building.

The lower level was swarming with Controllers. Castiel nearly choked on his tongue when he realized how many were in the room. They were swarming in from the streets outside and from the elevators, as if summoned by some invisible signal.

_ Either they found Zachariah, _ Castiel thought,  _ or they checked the security cameras and— _

A deafening alarm began to sound overhead, causing a stampeding panic among the citizens lining up at desks in the lobby. They began shrieking, heading to the entrance, fighting against the swell of Controllers trying to come back the other way.

Castiel grabbed Sam’s right arm, Dean grabbed his left, and they plowed through, trying to look as confident as possible. Dean had Zachariah’s arm tucked under his arm like a fabric wrapped package, and the silver gun was slipped into Castiel’s waistband next to his own.

They almost made it.

Almost.

When they were barely a few feet from the shallow, shiny steps that led to the marble atrium outside, Castiel felt a hand tighten around his forearm, pulling him back. Automatically he let go of Sam, raising his other hand in a fist to fight back. He turned, swinging—

“Hannah!” he exclaimed, bewildered, his planned punch halted in mid-air in his confusion.

Dean and Sam crowded in on either side of him, exchanging silent, panicked looks.

“Castiel!” Hannah’s mouth flapped open and closed. “I—I thought it was you, I just came to—” she waved a thin data sheet vaguely, looking confused, then lost, then like she was about to cry. “I thought they—I thought they killed you,” she finished, her voice cracking.

“They almost did, thanks to you,” Castiel said, coldly. He realized that Hannah, most likely, was here to file information relating to his own death and the dissolution of their betrothal.

“Cas.” Dean spoke quietly, flicking his bewildered green eyes over to check on him. “We don’t have time for this.”

Hannah’s brow furrowed, and she looked back and forth between them all, slowly taking in their uniforms, weapons, and expressions. “You’re escaping,” she said quietly. “Or trying.”

Castiel stared at her. He didn’t know what to say, or even how he was feeling. He still felt like he was having a heart attack, breath was hard to come by and his ribs ached, pain was shooting and spasming through his knee and everything was too loud, too much, chaotic.

“Actually, we’re trying to get to the jail.” It was Sam that spoke up, quiet, his hazel eyes studying Hannah. “Who are you?”

_ Oh,  _ Castiel thought distantly.  _ Right. _

In silent unison, the small group sidestepped behind one of the large, ornate pillars that framed the entryway to the packed lobby. People still pushed around them on all sides, the alarm buzzing madly through the air, but for them time was suddenly still; a tiny, fear-filled bubble at the side of the room.

“I—” Hannah paused, licking her lips nervously. She didn’t answer Sam, looking back at Castiel instead. “There are too many Controllers at the front. Go out the back. There’s a door that leads to a covered walkway that goes to the infirmary. For staff and emergencies. But it goes past the building next door, where guard office is, which leads to—”

“The jail,” said Castiel, his eyes narrowing. “Why? Why should we trust you?”

“Castiel, please,” Hannah said, quiet and desperate. “I didn’t think they would—I never thought they’d—”

She looked like she was about to cry, and they really didn’t have time for that. Dean took a step forward and grabbed her arm.

“Okay, lady. You lead, then.” Dean locked his forest-green eyes on Hannah’s blue, and for a few seconds they just stared at each other. Then Dean leaned in, whispering something low in her ear.

Hannah paled significantly. She swallowed down a harsh gulp, blinking frantically, before she lowered her eyes and nodded.

“Follow me,” she said, moving toward the side of the room. After three steps, she looked back over her shoulder, checking they were following.

Castiel’s head was spinning, but he felt Dean’s hand, warm and sure, at the base of his back. He pushed him gently onwards, shoving Sam across next to him. Snapping out of it, Castiel grasped one of Sam’s elbows and continued their ruse, hoping that their Controller uniforms would at least get them out of the building.

Hannah led them directly to the back of the room, and to a simpler looking door than the decorated, heavy ones which lined the front of the building. This was definitely more of a staff entrance. Slowly, Castiel recalled that Hannah’s younger sister Muriel worked at the infirmary. That, he reasoned, was how Hannah even knew about the passageways between the cities biggest, and most well-guarded, buildings.

Dean’s face was dark, his eyebrows heavy above his eyes. He still carried Zachariah’s arm, thankfully not yet bleeding through its wrappings. Castiel flicked a look over to him but couldn’t read what he was thinking. He didn’t know if Dean was just furious at Hannah, having been told what happened in the courtroom, or if he was not appreciating coming face to face with the woman Castiel had been set to marry. It was an uncomfortable reality that, Castiel had a feeling, they would talk about at length some time later.

No one bothered them. Controllers were obeyed, or feared, or a healthy dose of both. Seeing two, escorting a rumpled young man to the infirmary, didn’t look out of place by any means.

And so, with a few minutes of silent walking, the cool air of the city hit their skin once more. It was such a relief to Castiel’s senses that his steps faltered for a moment as he inhaled and turned his eyes to the glass ceiling overhead. It didn’t hold a candle to the amazing nothing-sky out beyond the walls, but after so long in a cell, it was going to take him more than a day to stop appreciating it once more.

Hannah watched him quietly, waiting under the covered walkway as the three men walked the last few steps to her. Her chocolate eyes rested on Castiel’s face, flickering over the collection of scars he was gaining.

He wondered if he looked different, to her. If she recognized the man she saw, beyond the superficial parts.  

He wondered if she’d ever seen him in the first place.

“Hannah, why are you helping us?” Castiel blurted out, unable to stop himself.

Her eyes dropped, and she turned to lead them onward, under the glass-topped path. It provided a weatherproof link between the Council chambers and the other main buildings of the city, hidden within the inner ring. Luckily, it was empty; all of the staff, Castiel assumed, pulled to the main building by the alarm.

He’d decided that she was ignoring him by the time they reached around half-way along the walkway, but she surprised him by answering calmly once they turned right and headed off the path, across a stretch of neatly cut grass.

“I was foolish, and selfish, and short-sighted. I didn’t realize that they’d kill you, Castiel. I would never have allowed Hester to persuade me you should be turned in, if I’d have known the outcome. You must believe that, Cassie… please.” Her eyes glinted wet, but she carried on as she steadfastly walked along the grass. “I was stupid. You don’t deserve to die for my stupidity any more than you deserve to die for not loving me. I should have been happy to be your friend—that is more than some women get. But I wasn’t, and I’m sorry for that.”

Reaching an unmarked doorway at the back of the building Castiel knew from his own tenure in the cells contained the guard offices and jail entrance, Hannah stopped.

“I can’t make up for what I did. But hopefully bringing you here will at least help you escape.”

The three men were looking at her with three entirely different expressions. Sam had a slowly dawning look of understanding, his eyes flicking between Hannah and Castiel uncomfortably. Dean scowled, still looking like he was struggling to keep his mouth shut. Castiel could feel his own face dropping, and he could feel tears on his cheeks, though he wasn’t even sure when they’d started or why they were falling.

“Come on,” Hannah urged. “Quickly, inside. Will your barcodes work? I could use mine if—”

“No,” Castiel said. “Go.” He didn’t want her associated with this, despite everything. He wanted to hate her, but his guilt prevented him from even looking at her.

Sam stepped forward, pressing his arm to the black scanner at the door. Meg’s fresh tattoo did them well, sliding the door open with a content beep.

“Castiel, I—” Hannah began.

“He said go,” Dean snapped.

Hannah and Dean looked at each other for a long moment, a silent confrontation that Castiel wanted to stop, wanted to not have to even consider. But after a moment, Hannah slowly nodded.

“I wish you all the best,” she murmured. “Both of you. I—I don’t know if you know this, but you’ve inspired a lot of people. Your brother is making sure the City can’t keep all of this quiet, Castiel. I intend to do my part.”

Her eyes flicked to Dean. “Look after him, please.”

Dean blinked, surprised, the anger dying from his face as he nodded. “Of course I will.”

Hannah leaned forward, quickly pressing her lips to Castiel’s damp cheek before she stepped back, waving them on through the door. “Go.”

Sam was still stood holding the door open, looking like he wanted to yell at them to move their asses, but was too scared to interrupt whatever this was.

Castiel stepped straight through the door. He didn’t look back.

**~~***~~**

 

“Where is everyone?” Dean whispered as Castiel led them through the eerily deserted corridors.

The guard house was dark. Every door was closed. It was lucky, of course, but it felt too easy and that alone was enough to make all three of them tense. The hallways were wide, space enough for eight or nine Controllers in full uniform to pass by, escorting prisoners or reporting for duty. Castiel felt open, exposed and nervous.

“I would assume they all got called over to the Council chambers,” Castiel whispered back. “Presumably they saw us on the cameras there, or they found Zachariah, or the guards.”

“Yeah,” said Dean, his voice low but dry. His walk was slow, one hand now tellingly pressed to his stomach. “Whatever they saw, fairly sure none of us are getting an obedience bonus from the Council on community day.”

“Dean, you’ve  _ never _ had an obedience bonus,” Sam whispered, rolling his eyes. “You’re not even in the system.”

“Bet Cas has, though.” Dean grinned wickedly.

They moved to what Castiel thought was the correct area of the building, doing his best to recall some visual clues and little landmarks from his times dragged through these halls in cuffs.

“Every year, actually,” Castiel said primly once he successfully located the heavy door leading down to the corridor where the isolation cells were. “I was perfectly respectable until you two came along.”

He held the door open, gesturing for Dean and Sam to go on into the dimly lit room beyond. With one last, long, paranoid look, Castiel checked up and down the corridor before going in after them.

They all heaved a sigh of relief when they were behind the heavy door and walked down the steps that led to solitary.

Castiel looked around the cells, which looked surprisingly unfamiliar from the outside.

“Dude,” Sam said, creasing his brow as he looked around the dank, stone-carved room. If he tried not to sound horrified, he failed. “This is where they kept you?”

Castiel nodded.

Dean spun slowly on the spot, looking at the windowless, bare cells, with nothing but the splintered benches set into the walls. It turned out there were eight cells, in total; no toilet facilities, no light beyond the single, bare bulb, nothing. Dean’s eyes were caught on something and he stopped, staring at the bottom of one of the cells.

Castiel stepped up to him, following his gaze, and realized that Dean was looking at a series of red bloodstains on the rock. Castiel reached out slowly, twining his fingers into Dean’s.

“This… all of this is my fault,” Dean said, heavy and shamed. “Everything that happened to you is my fault.”

“Hey—” Castiel shook his head. He had so many things to say in response to that; that he wouldn’t change it, that he was happy with the outcome, that a life of ignorance was still worth less than these few weeks with Dean… but he knew Dean wouldn’t accept it. Not until he was ready to, maybe never. Instead, he squeezed his hand, and pulled Dean around roughly to face him, looking sharply at the other man.

“Dean. We don’t have time for this right now.”

Castiel was aware of Sam, behind Dean, looking at him almost proudly. Like he was getting some kind of gold star in “how to handle a Winchester”.

Dean snapped out of it quickly, nodding. “Right. Let’s go.”

They all moved swiftly to the other end of the short hallway, where the much larger, heavier door that Castiel had seen during his imprisonment stood.

His face impassive, Dean swiftly unwrapped Zachariah’s arm. It looked oddly gray, most of the blood from it left on the floor of the office in the building next door. It carried with it the tangy smell of blood going stale, and no doubt felt heavy and cold, but Dean didn’t flinch or even look at it. Instead he looked back at Sam and Castiel, who framed him behind on either side, before holding it up to the black scanner next to the door.

_ Beep. _

Green.

In unison, they let out a tight breath they weren’t aware they’d been holding, and pressed on into the jail.

“Plan?” Sam whispered, bringing up the rear behind Castiel, while Dean led.

“Do you know your way around?” Castiel asked Dean, whispering ahead. He watched Dean’s steadily slowing gait as the man pushed ahead, concerned about Dean’s wound as he stubbornly, sweatily, pushed his body onward.

“Got a vague idea, from the couple times I was brought in and out,” Dean said. “But finding the people we need will be luck. There’s hundreds of people down here.”

They made their way down a narrow corridor that led to a steep stairway. Everything was stone, like the solitary chambers above, but there were lights dotted above them as they moved.

“We’ll use the Controller uniforms to get them out of the corral,” Dean decided. “You call out names, Cas. They won’t recognize your voice down here. If Sam and I stay back, maybe you can get them brought out to us.”

“Corral?” Castiel asked, frowning.

Dean didn’t answer; the explanation presented himself as they rounded the corner.

Castiel’s stomach dropped. Yes, Dean and Sam had explained to him how the City really worked, and he’d begun to see some of the horrors himself. But even so, this sudden, stark reality was a blow.

In front of him, below the platform they stood on, was a huge, underground pit. He didn’t know if pit was the right word for it, but nothing else came to mind. It had steep walls with wicked spikes, and below, a simple concrete floor. There were basic walls, with no ceilings, made of bare brick that divided up the area into several large pens. Pens for people, Castiel realized with disgust. Chained in each area were groups of easily thirty people.

“This is where they get the ship crews, isn’t it,” Castiel said. The words echoed around his own mind, something he’d known, but hadn’t seen.

“Yeah. Rounded up Unassigned, mostly,” Dean said. “Actual criminals too, but mostly just folks born in the wrong place.”

“They tell us it’s voluntary, a good job for City residents without enough name to attend the Academy.” Castiel said. His eyes still travelled slowly around the pit, counting the pens, calculating dully the numbers below. Easily three hundred people, he guessed.

Sam made a rude, snorting noise. “Sure, voluntary,” he said.

Castiel nodded. “I guess I’d have learned the truth when I was treated by Naomi. And I wouldn’t have cared.”

He felt Dean’s arm squeeze around his waist, though he didn’t turn to look at him, still unable to tear his eyes away from the pens. The people hardly moved, just sat, slumped around in circles, thick chains visible snaking across the floor even from this high up.

“Dean,” Castiel said quietly. “We can’t leave these people here. I know we only came for Gabriel, and Charlie, but—”

“Cas,” Dean interrupted softly. “We can’t. I know this is… unpleasant. But how in Hell are we supposed to get hundreds of people out of the city? Where would they go? We’d all be slaughtered. Maybe just the few of us, we can hide deep in the warrens, lay low—but hundreds?”

Sam was already moving toward the metal staircase at the side of the platform that descended down toward the pit, but he paused, listening.

“Not the warrens.” Castiel turned, finally dragging his eyes from the prisoners so he could look at Sam and Dean in turn. “We’ll take them to the  _ Nebesa _ , of course. If Charlie really can get the ship out of here like Gabriel says she can, we can take them with us. We’ll steal the ship and take them to one of the trading posts, or a planet nearby with an atmosphere…” Castiel trailed off, seeing the looks of disbelief on Dean and Sam’s faces turn to slow acceptance. “I know it’s crazy. But isn’t that what you wanted, Dean?”

Dean licked his lips, nervous. He was still sweating, his brow glistening as he leaned his weight on the balustrade of the platform. His expressive green eyes moved out across the pit below, before flicking to Sam, then coming to rest on Castiel. “They had this whole plan, Gabriel and Chuck. I was really just… along for the ride. Not that I didn’t believe what they said, but I’m not a leader, Cas. No matter what Chuck says. I’m just a—a warrior. At best. I have a big mouth and I know how to hit things.”

Castiel frowned curiously. Dean was displaying the streak of low self-esteem that Castiel had already learned lurked beneath the cocky exterior, but something else struck him about Dean’s response. “Gabriel and Chuck? They… know each other? How?”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, and Castiel thought he saw some underlying amusement in it.

“Not that we don’t want you to know or anything, but that’s really Gabriel’s tale to tell,” Sam said firmly, his response shutting Dean’s open mouth.  

Castiel squinted suspiciously, but then nodded. If they said it was for Gabriel to tell, then he’d ask Gabriel. Right then, they had a jail breakout to get through.

  
  



	11. Chapter 11

“Charlie Bradbury-Roche! Gabriel Novak!” Castiel barked out firmly, his eyes glazed over listlessly so that he didn’t have to truly _look_ at any of the neglected, malnourished people that filled the jail pens. It was too much.

Dean and Sam had been very firm in their assertion that they did not have the time or ability to get everyone out of the prison. Castiel knew they were right, but he also knew he wasn’t letting it go. These people deserved to be freed; a chance at life somewhere else, no matter how tough, must be preferable to a short life in jail before being used as cannon fodder by the Council, he thought. He had an inkling of a plan; but first, for sure, he needed Charlie and his brother.

He concentrated on keeping his back straight, his composure calm, and ignoring the now-dull throbbing in his leg.

An extremely tall Controller ambled over toward Castiel, looking lazy but curious.

“What do you want with them?”

Castiel tried his best to calm his racing heart and simply prayed that the Controller hadn’t watched his trial and wouldn’t recognize him. “I don’t want them at all,” he responded flippantly, idly slapping his stolen baton onto his palm, trying his best to sound careless and bored. “Zachariah wants ‘em. The guy is some fancy judge I think… dunno about the girl.”

The Controller grunted. “The girl has a mouth on her, Zach can keep the bitch if he wants.” He turned, yelling back over his shoulder. “Novak! Bradbury! Get your sorry asses up here!”

Castiel heard the clanking of chains as Gabriel and Charlie both made their way out of a pen to the right. He bit the inside of his cheek firmly, gritting his teeth and hoping, hoping hard, that Gabriel and Charlie were both smart enough to act like they didn’t recognize him.

They both were. They managed to stand silently in the doorway of their pen, not looking at Castiel at all. He realized that their chains were taut; they couldn’t go any further than the door without a guard releasing them.

The tall Controller bent down to their bare ankles and used a small key to open the thick cuffs that held them there, before moving his attention up to their wrists. Neither Charlie nor Gabriel wore any shoes, their clothes replaced with simple, ragged tunics. They were once white, of course, but looked gray and patchy from time huddled on the rough, concrete floor. Gabriel’s wasn’t too bad, newer as it was, but Charlie’s was ripped and stretched, parts of it splattered with dried blood.

Gabriel kept his golden-brown eyes focused carefully downward, watching the Controller unlock his wrist-cuffs. Charlie, red-headed and green-eyed, rested her gaze carefully blankly somewhere beyond Castiel.

“You okay to take both of these upstairs?” The Controller asked, moderately pleasant and helpful, though Castiel couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but hate for the man. “The girl is pretty feisty.”

“Oh, I don’t think they’ll give me any trouble,” Castiel said, moving his hand back to his hip to rest on the gun that sat there in a neat holster. “The Potentate wasn’t super specific about how many pieces they arrived in, you see.”

The Controller chuckled. “Well, rather you deal with Zach than me. Here.”

Two lengths of chain had now been attached to Gabriel and Charlie’s wrist cuffs, so that Castiel could lead them like dogs. Castiel reached slowly for the offered leashes, forcing his fingers forward despite the way his stomach recoiled at the sight of them.

“Thank you—” He paused, not sure of the Controller’s name or rank.

“Kelvin,” the Controller said, and smiled proudly.

“I’ll make sure to tell Zachariah you were so helpful,” Castiel offered, forcing out a smile of his own and yanking roughly on the chains of his friends. “Come on, you two.”

Charlie and Gabriel kept their heads down, silent, as Castiel roughly pulled them behind him; he kept his shoulders up, confident, his gaze ahead on the wide metal staircase that rose back out of the jail. There were other exits, that would take them to much safer spaces than back to the guardhouse; but this was the one the Controllers would expect him to use if he was taking Prisoners to the Potentate’s office. And so, blank-faced, he forged ahead.

Sam and Dean were waiting in the dark corridor beyond the platform. They saw Castiel coming with Gabriel and Charlie on either side of him, and immediately opened the door back to the solitary cells.

Dean had just finished re-wrapping the grotesque, severed limb that they were still carrying around when Castiel came through the door with Gabriel and Charlie. As the heavy door closed behind them, they all heaved a sigh of relief.

Charlie and Gabriel both moved in to squash Castiel in a hug at the same time.

“You came for us! I didn’t think—” Gabriel cut himself off, crushing his younger brother in a tight embrace. “I underestimate you every time, Cassie.”

Castiel grinned. “I’m seeing that. Asshole.”

Gabriel and Charlie laughed, before turning their attention to Sam and Dean, who stood off to the side. Charlie gave them a small, cheery wave, despite being only feet apart.

“Thanks for saving me, tall, handsome men. I’m Charlie.”

Dean laughed. “I’m Dean, this is Sam. And you’re welcome.”

Gabriel cleared his throat, and Dean slowly turned to look at him, as did Sam. They both looked like they were waiting, though Castiel wasn’t quite sure why they were looking so pointedly at Gabriel.

The small room of isolation cells was quiet, and the heavy, tense looks that they all shared seemed to fill it right up to the dripping walls.

“Castiel wasn’t the only one I underestimated, I guess,” said Gabriel. “Thank you, both of you.”

“Not the first time you underestimated me,” Dean responded with a wry grin, once again alluding to things Castiel was increasingly annoyed at not knowing. “But it’s okay, dude.”

Gabriel nodded, and to Castiel’s surprise, Sam came forward to wrap Gabriel in a tight hug.

“I feel like there’s still a lot you need to explain to me,” Castiel said, shaking his head. “But now isn’t the time. Charlie—” Castiel turned, smiling warmly at his friend. “—can you get us to the shipyard, and onto the _Nebesa_?”

She blinked. “Uh, in theory—I know how to operate the nav panels in the shipyard and override the launch approvals, but I doubt my authorization to get into the shipyard is—”

Dean cut her off, raising his sleeve to flash his fresh, still pink, tattoo. “We’ve got authorization covered.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Crowley?”

Dean and Sam both nodded.

“What in Hell did you have to promise him to get those?” Gabriel gawped.

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel asked, turning thoughtfully to him. “You never did tell me exactly what the terms of your deal were.”

Everyone turned to look at Dean. He shifted uncomfortably, one hand still resting uneasily across his gunshot wound. After a second, he sighed. “We don’t have time to argue about this, okay? Crowley wants safe passage on the _Nebesa_ for him, Meg and Lili. Plus a handful of his other cohorts. He wants to go with us. If we fail to launch, he’ll collect another way.”

Sam visibly wrinkled his nose, as did Gabriel, but no one voiced any loud objections. In the scheme of things, taking a known criminal and master manipulator on board with them was a minor issue, Castiel decided.

“Fine, whatever. Now, come on, all of you.” Castiel said. He straightened up, taking charge automatically. “We have to get out of here. I have a plan; none of you will entirely like it. I’d apologize, but we’re on a deadline, so let’s act now and complain later, yes?”

Gabriel, Charlie and the Winchesters all turned to look at him. Dean smiled fondly. Sam seemed to be waiting expectantly, as was Charlie. Gabriel looked amused, but proud.

“I believe you have a willing team, Commander,” Charlie teased.

Castiel blushed, but before he could feel awkward about it, Dean spoke up.

“I’m not one to listen to people in charge, Cas… never have been, kind of a fault of mine—"

“Honestly, same,” Gabriel interrupted, smirking.

“—but you?” Dean grinned. He stopped, affecting a sloppy salute. “You can command me any day baby, in bed and out.”

Sam’s face scrunched up. “Okay, could have done without that.”

Castiel ignored them both. “We need a distraction. Gabriel and I are going to create a little chaos here, keep all of the Controllers busy. While they’re running in circles, Sam, Dean, Charlie—Do you think you can get all the prisoners free?”

They all blinked at him slowly.

“Yes…” Dean said, carefully. “I suppose, we can use Zach’s code and get back in, steal some keys from the Controllers, but… where are we taking them?”

“To the shipyard,” Castiel said firmly. “Gabriel and I will meet you at the shipyard. We’ll override the navigation panel. Give the Unassigned a choice, Dean. They can return to the warrens if they wish—if not, they can help us with the _Nebesa_ , until we reach a trading post to hide out at. I can fly her alone if I really have to, but I’d rather not.”

“How do we know when it’s safe to start freeing the prisoners?” Sam asked. “I don’t mind knocking out a few more Controllers, Cas, but we’re going to have more than a few descend on us if we stroll out of the jail with three hundred people.”

Castiel couldn’t help but grin. “Just listen for the commotion. You’ll know when to go.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, before looking over at Charlie.

“You in, Red?” Dean asked.

Charlie smiled, reaching to her left to punch Castiel roughly in the bicep. “I’d follow this dork to the end of the solar system. And beyond, it sounds like.”

Castiel was briefly overwhelmed by the eager, expectant faces turned toward him. He didn’t merit the friendship and faith of these people, he felt, but he’d do his best to deserve it. Right then, he needed them to trust his wild plan, so that they could get out of the dank isolation cells, which still made his skin crawl. Clearing his throat, he smiled at his brother.

“So, Gabriel, when was the last time you made something explode?” he asked.

“Are we talking bricks and mortar, or lady parts?”

Castiel shook his head, ignoring Sam and Dean’s snickering. “Buildings, you pervert.”

“I think out of the two of us, Cassie, we have established that you are the perv.” At Castiel’s frustrated look, Gabriel raised his hands. “Fine, fine. Buildings, got it. I haven’t deliberately blown anything up since my Academy days, but find me a janitor’s closet and I can.”

Dean and Sam blinked across at Gabriel in amazement.

“Really?” asked Sam.

“Yup.” Gabriel turned back to Castiel, sighing. “I did way too good a job of convincing everyone I was the dumb one of the family, I think.”

Castiel smirked, before turning to nod at the small group. “Alright then. Dean, Sam, Charlie; get back to the jail, pick off a few Controllers if you can, otherwise lay low. When you hear the commotion, that’s your cue. Pick out as many friends and people who you think will help you create an uproar as you can, get them out first so they can assist you. As soon as Gabriel and I are done, we’ll come and meet you at the entrance to the shipyard. It’s going to be loud, and fast, and chaotic. Prepare to run.”

“Yes, Sir,” Charlie said with a grin, giving him a terribly executed salute.

Dean stepped forward. His eyes flicked nervously to Gabriel and Charlie, before leaning in to drop a kiss on Castiel’s cheek. “Be careful, okay?” he murmured, reaching up to pull him into a quick hug.

Castiel hugged him back firmly, making sure to keep his arms well above Dean’s midsection. He returned the kiss chastely on the lips before he nodded. “I’ll see you at the shipyard, don’t worry about me. Be careful of that wound. Please.”

As they parted, Castiel saw Charlie looking up at him with huge, round eyes.

“What?”

“You and—” she flapped vaguely in Dean’s direction. “How did I miss that!?” She looked almost disappointed.

Dean bent over inelegantly to retrieve Zachariah’s arm from the floor, where he’d rewrapped it in the remains of the Potentate’s jacket after opening the jail door. He tucked it under his arm, and used his other elbow to nudge Charlie. “Come on, let’s get down to the jail. If we survive today, I’ll tell you the tale of how I ruthlessly seduced your friend.”

Castiel flushed, but unfortunately Charlie looked fairly keen.

“Hell, yeah. I need all the dirty details. Except the, uh, actual details. We can skip those.”

Sam, Dean and Charlie stepped through the doorway to the jail once more, Dean throwing Castiel a wink as they closed it behind them.

Castiel sighed, turning to Gabriel. “Why do I have a feeling that Charlie and Dean are going to get along rather too well for my liking?”

Gabriel’s grin was quite wolfish. “Cassie, baby bro, when all the chaos and rebellion is done with, your supposedly-obedient, straight little ass is going to have to answer a lot of questions from all of us, and you know I’m not as allergic to details as Charlie is.”

“Gross,” Castiel muttered under his breath, moving past the solitary cells to the small set of stone stairs at the other side of the room, that led on up into the guard chambers once more.

He looked back over his shoulder at Gabriel.

“The guardhouse was pretty empty on the way here—Dean, Sam, and I left a bit of mess for them to clean up in the Council Chambers. But we should be careful, they might be back.”

Gabriel nodded his understanding. “Gotcha. All I need are some common cleaning chemicals, and a metal box, if possible. If we place it right, we can cause some real problems for Zachariah and his men.”

“I’m not sure Zach will be much problem,” Castiel said uncomfortably as he waited at the top of the stairs.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow.

“I killed him.”

Gabriel missed the next step.

“In my defense, he shot Dean.”

Castiel wasn’t sure that Gabriel’s eyebrow could go any higher, but somehow it did.

“There are so many things to talk about when we get out of here…” Gabriel shook his head.

Castiel dug into his waistband, pulling out two guns; the one the Controller who’d owned his uniform had held, and the small silver revolver he’d taken from Zachariah. He offered the Potentate’s weapon to Gabriel.

As Gabriel checked the weapon and settled it in his palm, Castiel regarded him thoughtfully. “There are a lot of things to talk about later. Such as how you know Chuck, perhaps.”

The face the Gabriel raised up to Castiel was solemn and quiet, and he nodded. “Right. Things like that. I promise.”

They arranged themselves on each side of the doorframe, weapons readied, falling back on the combat training they had both been through while enrolled at the Academy. In sync, Gabriel kicked open the door to the guard office and they burst through.

Empty.

They both heaved a sigh of relief.

“Watch the door a second, Cassie?” Gabriel said, not pausing to wait for an answer as he dove behind the cluttered Controller’s desk.

He grabbed the simple communication screen that perched on the corner, pushing aside some crinkled snack wrappers and a spare uniform hat to pull it toward him. He didn’t bother to sit down, shoving up his sleeve to scan his forearm.

“They’ll be tracking that.” Castiel pointed out, his eyes on the hallway.

“Like it matters,” Gabriel said. His fingers flew, tapping in a number from memory.

A weighty second passed, with Gabriel chewing on his lip.

“Gabriel?” A beautifully dark-skinned woman appeared on the screen, tumbling waves of black hair falling past her shoulders as she leaned forward toward her own screen.

“Hey, baby.” Gabriel grinned at his wife, Kali.

“What are you wearing?” Kali blinked her huge, dark eyes. “Where have you been? You said you were staying late at work yesterday and then you never—”

“Bad day at work,” Gabriel interrupted quickly. “The worst. I can’t talk, sweetheart, I need you to get word to Bobby and Chuck for me. Now.”

Castiel turned his head back to the corridor, looking back and forth, but still heard Kali’s completely calm, understanding voice floating through the office.

“Now? You’re starting the apocalypse project? I thought you and Chuck were waiting for—”

“Kali,” Gabriel reminded her. “Time. I’m with Cassie.”

“Hello, Kali,” Castiel called back over his shoulder, looking at the screen although she wouldn’t see him from her angle.

“I see. Make sure your little brother knows that everyone is glad he’s alive, Gabriel,” Kali pointed out, as calmly as she had dealt with everything else. With that, she turned her head, calling back over her shoulder. “Ash!”

The skinny, mullet-wearing DJ from the Roadhouse drifted across the back of the screen, shirtless.

“Call Ellen, tell her and Bobby to get everyone moving, and to make a little noise on the way.”

Ash leaned over Kali’s shoulder, grinning at Gabriel. “Gabe, my man, it’s been a while. We’ll take it from here. I’ll start programming the shuttles.”

Gabriel nodded, grinning now. “See ya soon, nerd boy. Later, baby-cakes.”

He blew a kiss to Kali before shutting off the screen.

Castiel regarded Gabriel as calmly as he could, his nerves bundling up at the back of his spine. He rolled his shoulders carefully before speaking. “Any more family calls to make while we wait for the Council to find us, Gabriel?”

“Sarcasm,” Gabriel noted, standing and moving back around the desk. “You’ve been hanging around Dean too much.”

Castiel glared and moved on into the corridor.

“Why was mullet-boy with Kali?” Castiel asked curiously, moving slowly.

Gabriel overtook him, practically bounding through the empty corridor. “Bobby and Chuck have had their most trusted Unassigned guarding their allies in the City ever since you were arrested,” he explained. “Anyone Dean trusts, Bobby trusts. We’ve been busy while you were in the cells.”

“So I see. Any idea where the cleaning supplies are kept?” Castiel whispered, limping only slightly as he kept up with his brother.

“I’d bet they’re in the basement,” Gabriel said, pointing ahead to a set of stairs that led downwards.

Castiel nodded, and they moved swiftly toward them. The steps were steep and narrow, not as well-built and ornate as the rest of the buildings in the center of the city. They were bare, cheap metal, and their footsteps rang out loudly despite all their efforts; Castiel’s heavy Controller boots and Gabriel’s slapping, bare feet against the treads. It seemed that Gabriel had guessed correctly that they led down to the basement level. Realizing they could do nothing about the noise, they hurried.

When they reached the bottom, the steps opened up into a huge, wide room that stretched on far in front of them. There were pallets of cleaning products, just as Gabriel hoped, and also the furnace system for heat and air for the building, filing areas, storage, extra uniform lockers, all kinds of things that were just too unimportant to keep in the elegant offices above.

Gabriel looked around, frowning thoughtfully. He raised a hand, pointing in turn to several other doors and sets of steps across the room from them.

“Cassie,” he mused. “How much distraction and confusion do you want?”

“As much as we can get, why?”

“I think this is the general basement for all the city buildings,” Gabriel explained, squinting at one of the far staircases. “In fact, I think that staircase leads up to the first floor of the building I work in—or worked, I guess—and I think that other set of steps over there, leads up to the courtroom. The others probably go to the Council chambers and maybe even the academy, it’s like a rabbit warren down here.”

“Okay,” said Castiel, following Gabriel’s hand as he spoke. “So, what’s your idea?”

Gabriel answered him with a question, while he pushed up the sleeves of his prison tunic and headed over to the janitorial area of the room. “How’s that leg? Can you run?”

Castiel nodded. “Dean gave me all the healing shots that you gave to him and Sam. I won’t like it, but I could run.”

“Good,” Gabriel said cheerfully. “Because I’m going to blow up the heating and air system for all the buildings in the center of the city, and I don’t have the materials to make a timer.”

“Oh,” said Castiel, blinking.

“You did say chaos, right?” Gabriel grinned far too happily, beginning to search through the bottles of bleach and caustic chemicals, assembling what he needed.

“How were you a bomb-making anarchist all these years and I never noticed?” Castiel marveled.

“Dunno, Cassie.” Gabriel grinned and winked back over his shoulder as he reached up on his tip toes, trying to reach something in a red bottle. “Aren’t ya proud of me?”

Castiel let him struggle for a second before reaching to grab the bottle for him. It was covered in alarming labels and warnings about not mixing it with other things; so of course, Castiel watched Gabriel gather the rest of the materials to do just that.

They were quiet as Gabriel took his armload of chemicals and headed over to a long workbench near one wall of the huge room. He spread out the bottles and tubs, eyeing them with a strange satisfaction. Sitting atop the wooden surface were a series of metal boxes with handles. Hurrying, Gabriel dumped the tools they contained out onto the floor with a clatter, worrying more about speed than noise, it seemed. Castiel stood nearby, doing his best to watch all of the entrances.

Gabriel had worked silently for a couple of minutes, carefully pouring and gauging measurements by eyesight alone, before he spoke. He didn’t look up from his work, concentrating on what they needed, but quietly speaking to Castiel while he created.

“He’s my dad.”

Castiel frowned, confused. He didn’t need to ask for clarification, as Gabriel seemed to realize he’d missed a few steps.

“Chuck, I mean. Chuck is my dad. He’s the guy Becky—Mom, I mean—used to go visit all the time.”

It was such a simple, little piece of information, but it trickled into Castiel’s mind like sand in a timer. Grain by grain, it settled until it suddenly loomed bigger. “Chuck is… your father,” he said, blinking slowly as his life rearranged itself around him. “So, you—we—”

“Half-brothers,” Gabriel confirmed. “Not full blood. But that never mattered to me.”

Castiel nodded slowly, staying quiet. He sensed Gabriel had more to explain, but he didn’t know what he was supposed to say or ask, so Gabriel would have to get there alone.

“Mom didn’t tell me until I was a teenager. Your dad knew, though. He didn’t mind, not really. He and mom had their little arrangements, a slip up was almost inevitable I guess. But he never treated me any different. Hold this.”

It took a second for Castiel to realize he’d received an instruction, but when Gabriel prompted him a second time he swiftly stepped up to the workbench to take hold of the funnel being waved in his direction, holding it over a bucket as indicated.

Gabriel quietened for a moment, carefully funneling a thick, viscous liquid before he continued. “Your dad presented me to everyone as his own, so I grew up Assigned. I don’t know if he ever realized that Chuck was an Unassigned before he died, really. Mom never said, and now she’s gone I can’t ask her.”

Castiel nodded. “But you’ve got Chuck.”

“Yeah.” Gabriel paused to shove some long, blond hair back from his forehead, sweating gently with concentration as he worked. “I think Chuck was disappointed that Becky chose to raise me with your Dad, but I’ve never heard him say a bad word about her. Anyway, after Anna… well, you know. After she went to the Academy and rolled back out like a full-on automaton, mom was scared, I think. She knew there was another option. So, she told me about Chuck.”

“So, you spearheaded his planned rebellion, from the inside.”

“Yeah. I mean, he never forced me. When I got older, I wanted to help the Unassigned. I might have a barcode on my arm, but I’m one too.”

“Right,” Castiel said softly, still processing.

“I’m sorry.” Gabriel stood up, dusting off his hands in a way that indicated he was pleased with his work. He turned to look straight at Castiel, his eyes golden and apologetic. “I’m sorry I never told you. I wanted to, years ago… but you were so good at obedience, Cassie. I thought, until recently, that they’d already gotten to you. If I’d have known—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Castiel cut him off, deciding that he didn’t know how he felt about any of it and that they didn’t have time to work it out. “Let’s get this done, yes?”

Gabriel still looked at him, cautious and unsure. “We’re okay?”

Castiel summoned up the best smile he could. “You’re my brother. We’re always okay.”

“Good,” said Gabriel, holding up a metal toolbox in this hand. “Let’s blow some stuff up.”

                                                             

**~~***~~**

 

_WHEEEE-OOOO, WHEEE-OOOO!_

The emergency sirens now blasting all over the center of the city were absolutely deafening, vibrating through Castiel as he sprinted wildly down the guardhouse corridor with Gabriel at his side.

They hurtled away from the steps that led down to the basement, heading full-pelt toward the main double door that emptied the building out onto the street. It was already open; clearly whoever else had been in the building above them while they worked had already fled, and they had been totally careless as to minor housekeeping notions like closing doors or switching off lights; the lamps in the offices were totally overpowered by flashing red warning bulbs that illuminated every hallway and room. The air around them smelled singed and smoky; the building was on fire, as were, Castiel assumed, all the others that the basement connected to.

Castiel’s knee was agony, but it was a small consideration given the very real chance they had of being blasted to smithereens by the second bomb that was about to go off.

They pushed on, thighs burning, almost to the doorway.

Sirens, crackling, yelling, commotion; despite all the noise around them, Castiel heard the boom of the second explosive just a split second before they felt it.

Thick, hot air hit Castiel full force in the center of his back, projecting him through the air so that his run became a dramatic, groundless flail. Somehow he managed not to lose his footing as the blast threw them forward, running on air for a long, theatrical second. It felt like the world was in slow motion; his ears popped, searing heat registered back near the stairwell, and there was just too much air under his feet. But, upright, still running, he landed.

Next to him, Gabriel mimicked his every movement, screeching and cackling like something demonic. “You wanted a distraction!” he shrieked. “You wanted chaos! I gave you BEDLAM, baby bro!”

“Half-brother!” Castiel panted, afraid to even look back as they tried to outrun the roaring. “I’m only half related to you, you psycho!”

“It worked, didn’t it?!”

“You put a bomb on the Council complex’s gas tank! You could have killed us!”

Arguing with his brother—half-brother—seemed a little easier than taking in everything they had just done.

They had smashed the fire alarm before the first bomb detonated; giving everyone in the buildings, Castiel had reasoned, ample time to exit before the real distraction began. The bomb that had gone off first was smaller, a lesser, quicker mix that built up enough pressure in the toolbox Gabriel had enclosed it within to rain fire over the basement itself, quickly lighting the many years of stored items that were jumbled amongst the generators and gas supply tanks. It hadn’t taken more than a few minutes for one of the generators to catch. By that point, Castiel and Gabriel were already gone, running out of the building as fast as they could before the flames could catch them.

The second bomb, Castiel had noticed his anarchist brother set on top of the huge gas tank that supplied the Council complex before they left. Slightly slower to build, the bigger bomb had ignited the gas as it detonated, Castiel reasoned.

He knew, logically, the likelihood of anyone having been hurt was slim, as they’d triggered the evacuation of the buildings early. But nonetheless, guilt and worry churned viciously in Castiel’s stomach. He tried to reason that even one or two Council lives were worth the hundreds of lives they were saving down below; but he immediately felt sick, unable to know for sure if those were his true thoughts, or the years of conditioning he’d already been through at the Academy.

 _What is me, and what is them?_ He worried abstractly as he and Gabriel turned up the side of the guardhouse structure, running back behind the semi-circle of Council buildings.

Twisting his neck as he ran, his breath coming in uncomfortable spurts, Castiel looked back at the tall, imposing edifices that the Glass City’s rulers occupied.

They were bizarrely beautiful in anarchy.

Thick glass walls reached high above the crowds below, shining eerily in the orange, late afternoon sun that came through the glass ceiling that bubbled the city. Within, thick black smoke curled and billowed, darkening the otherwise gleaming buildings and moving sinuously on the other side of the quickly heating glass. Cracking sounds could be heard over the panic and yelling, as floors and ceilings within began to break, raining sparkling chunks of smoke-stained glass down inside the buildings.

They looked like gray, smoky snow globes, filled with tumbling shards of glass. The tinkling of the flakes within could be heard even over the flames.

The golden clock that Castiel had always observed now watched over the eerie disorder below, eternally turning twenty minutes ahead of time; a gleaming, ticking symbol now of how far ahead Castiel’s viewpoints were compared to many that he’d once stood alongside.

 

 

Castiel fought down the odd urge to watch, refocusing on escaping. Luckily, the combination of the chaos they were leaving behind and Castiel’s stolen Controller uniform ensured that no one looked at them twice. Just another sheep of the city, with a wide-eyed prisoner at his side. He hoped that the same things were offering Dean, Sam, and Charlie the cover they needed to get out of the city.

Still running, though both slowing and labored, Castiel and Gabriel made their way out onto the marble platform far behind the buildings, where shuttles to the distant shipyard ran.

Castiel had expected to have to steal a shuttle, hoping to meet with Dean at the shipyard itself, as they’d arranged.

But there Dean and Sam were, on the other end of the marble platform.

Castiel hadn’t realized how much tension he was holding until it suddenly eased at seeing Dean safe, outside of the jail building.

Dean and his brother were standing on either side of the door to a large military transport shuttle. They were shouting and waving, urging a long stream of people in prison rags within. A distinctive redhead sat at the helm of the shuttle.

Castiel spared a brief moment to wonder how they’d stolen such a large transport, while the tail end of the group of Unassigned prisoners hurried inside and he and Gabriel scrambled to catch up. His boots hit heavy against the marble, and he could hear his brother’s bare feet slapping at the stone next to him.

They were going to make it.

“Dean!” Castiel yelled, desperate with relief.

Dean looked up as he shoved the last few Unassigned onto the shuttle. Relief spread up his face like a sunrise as he spotted Castiel and Gabriel running, and he began to limp toward them, stooped, an arm wrapped around his stomach.

“Cas! What the hell did you do!” Dean grabbed at Castiel’s shoulder, dragging him forward across the slick, marble floor.

Castiel crashed into Dean and the world stopped for just long enough for them to embrace, before Castiel registered Dean’s question.

“It was him!” he flailed a hand breathlessly at Gabriel, his brow furrowed in judgement as Dean began to urge them all toward the shuttle.

“You told me to!” Gabriel fired back, somehow finding the time and breath to pout as he scrambled along beside them, heading for the ramp.

“I didn’t know you were going to do that!”

“Oh and I suppose you had far superior idea, huh?!”

“Well I wouldn’t have nearly blown us up!”

“Guys!” Charlie stuck her head out of the window of the shuttle like a tired mother herding unruly children. “Get in this damn transport! Escape now! Yell and measure dicks later!”

She had a fair point, and so they all packed in, occupying the last available standing spaces. Sam slammed the doors behind them all, and Charlie immediately lifted off, pulling the low-atmos shuttle directly upwards to speed them on up to the shipyard itself.

Hand in hand as they ascended, Castiel stood with Dean and watched the Council complex burn below them.

 


	12. Chapter 12

The Glass City’s shipyard floated above the city itself, technically in orbit above the City bubble. Shuttles travelled through what was, officially at least, the city’s only exit to the planet beyond, taking workers and supplies back and forth over many trips every day.

Castiel had been here plenty of times before; his flight training had taken place here, and the final year Academy students were allowed free rein of the shipyard to practice and learn.

The key here, Castiel knew, was getting Charlie to one of the control desks in the main observation area so that she could authorize the _Nebesa_ for launch, so that when he undocked the ship, they wouldn’t be automatically stopped by the yard’s automated security system.

Thinking quickly, he realized that the most sensible route would be for them to split up again; selfishly, he wanted Dean by his side, so he could keep an eye on the severe wound that the stubborn man was still trying valiantly to ignore. But, even the most basic of tactical training told him that taking his wounded boyfriend into the shipyard to hopefully pass unnoticed was a bad idea.

“Dean,” Castiel said carefully, squeezing his fingers gently, “I need you to stay here and guard the Unassigned with Sam while I sneak Charlie into the facility.”

Dean gave him a suspicious side-glance, but stayed silent, pursing his lips.

Castiel sighed. “Fine. I want you to keep an eye on the shuttle with Sam, but I also have concerns about your ability to fight and run, right now.”

“Well you don’t gotta come out with it like that, geez,” Dean spluttered.

Castiel rolled his eyes heavily. “So, you’d rather the lie?”

“No.” Dean sulked. “You’re right.”

Castiel squeezed Dean’s hand once more before bringing their joined fingers up to his lips, pressing a kiss to Dean’s knuckles. “Was that so hard?”

Dean glared. “How am I supposed to look out for you if I’m not there?”

“Maybe I don’t need looking out for.”

With a sigh, Dean tore his eyes from the window, where the destroyed city was growing distant. “I don’t think you do, Cas. It’s just in my nature to—”

“I know, Dean. I know.” Cas interrupted. “We’re the same, in some ways, you and I. There’s no point in butting heads over who gets to look after who the most.”

“Right.” Dean managed a small smile, before tugging gently on Castiel’s hand to tip him forward through the small space between them, so that he could press his lips carefully to his forehead. “Be careful. I’m gonna be really mad if you get hurt again. I’ll say I told you so and withhold privileges.”

Castiel looked pointedly down to Dean’s abdomen, the fabric of his stolen Controller shirt thoroughly wrinkled from his stooped stance and frequent pressing at his tender stomach. “How about I just bring a first aid kit when I come back, and you give up while you’re ahead.”

Dean made a small grumbling sound that might have been _Okay_ but could just as easily have been _Fuck you._ He didn’t offer anything else audible in return however, so Castiel chalked the conversation up as a win.

The shuttle began to turn, sweeping left to begin docking in the shipyard, so Castiel gave Dean’s hand one last squeeze before letting it go, making his way up to the pilot’s area where Charlie sat.

“Hello, Charlie,” he greeted his old friend softly.

She had her tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth, squashed between her lips as she concentrated on keying the shuttle’s docking procedure. After a few seconds, once she was satisfied, she turned her face up to Castiel. “Hey, Castiel. Glad you made it.”

Castiel smiled weakly. “Yes, same, honestly. Are you ready for this?”

She nodded firmly. “You betcha, Cassie. Gabriel approached me years ago about getting computer access for the resistance in the shipyard area. I’ve been waiting for this.”

“Why did you decide to help the Unassigned?”

Charlie gave Castiel a small smirk. “I mean, I’m gay as it gets, so that had a lot to do with it. But I also don’t like seeing people get crapped on by the government. Rebel at heart, I guess. Didn’t think it would happen like this, though.”

“I don’t think anyone did.” Castiel reached forward, coming up behind Charlie’s chair to squeeze her shoulder. “I’m sorry about Balthazar, Charlie.”

She sighed, a long, considered sound. “It wasn’t him, Cassie. That’s just what I have to keep telling myself. The Balthazar that we knew would never have turned me in. But that person is gone. And all that’s left of him now is flying off in space somewhere, with a couple hundred kidnapped Unassigned.”

Castiel nodded, noting Charlie’s hardening tone and deciding to drop it. “You’re right. That wasn’t him. But maybe we can make a difference for these Unassigned, huh?” He jerked his thumb back, indicating the packed military shuttle behind him.

“Yup.” Charlie gave Castiel a small grin. “I don’t know why I’m the one answering questions, anyway, Cassie—” She paused suddenly, as the shuttle shuddered into a bay at the side of the shipyard area, so that she could press a few more buttons. “—One day you’re the Academy’s golden boy, the next you’re rebelling with the dude that Gabe says is the Righteous Man. What the hell did I miss?”

Castiel huffed out a small, embarrassed laugh, bringing his hand up to the back of his neck with a shrug. “I met Dean and Sam by accident, but once you know…” he trailed off, shrugging.

Charlie stood up from her chair, moving to pull back a small curtain at the back side of the pilot’s area. Behind it hung several crisp Academy uniforms. She pulled one down from its hanger, holding it out to Castiel.

“Well, don’t think you’re getting away with it that easy, Castiel. You’re going to tell me what’s up with you and Dean one way or another. But right now, we’ve got a shipyard to infiltrate.”

Castiel took the costume, nodding. “Right. Bluff our way in, using my new tattoo, and get you to a desk, right?”

“Yup,” said Charlie cheerfully. There was only the slightest quiver of nerves to her voice. “Sounds easy.”

                                                             

**~~***~~**

 

Castiel and Charlie made their way up the long, noisy corridor that led from the shuttle into the shipyard. It was little more than a tube, the noisy roaring of the shuttle engines filling the air outside of the ramp they walked across to reach the solid platform of the shipyard.

Charlie looked at Castiel with a little smirk but said nothing.

Castiel flushed, but couldn’t help a grin. The look on Dean’s face when he’d stepped out of the pilot’s enclosure in his full Academy uniform had been one to remember. Crisp and white, with a loaded weapon belt and officer’s hat, even Castiel had to admit he looked pretty good. Dean had most certainly agreed, pushing Castiel back against the wall to kiss him possessively before he’d been allowed to disembark.

“You’ve got him wrapped around your little finger,” Charlie said, greatly entertained. “Adorable.”

Castiel shrugged. “Only as much as I’m wrapped around his. It’s just fair.”

Charlie laughed, before schooling her expression to a more neutral one as they stepped out of the transfer corridor onto the marble floor of the platform. In front of them was a solid glass door requiring a barcode. The security up here was much tighter than on the ground, they both knew, and every door would run a full ID check rather than just check of access.

With a silent prayer, Castiel pushed up his sleeve and stepped forward.

“Dean got Crowley to set these up pretty well,” he said, his voice low. “I have a whole new identity according to this barcode, so fingers crossed it works.”

Charlie fidgeted quietly with the sleeve of the Academy uniform she’d also dressed in, despite it looking a little big on her. Whoever had been the initial driver of the shuttle had definitely been closer to Castiel’s size than Charlie’s.

Swallowing firmly, Castiel pressed his inner forearm to the data screen next to the door.

_Beep._

_Beep._

For a moment, the screen stayed black, processing, and Castiel held his breath. Then, miraculously, green text flashed up on the screen.

_Officer C.J. Winchester. Clearance Level: Alpha. Entry Approved and Recorded._

The door slid open.

Stunned, Castiel quickly shoved Charlie through the door, joining the throngs of people that busied themselves in the corridor on the other side.

“C.J. Winchester?” Charlie hissed, her smirk going into overdrive. “That’s your new identity?”

“I—uh—” Castiel couldn’t help the heat at his cheeks. “I didn’t realize that Dean had chosen that name. He didn’t tell me he’d made me his brother.”

Charlie snorted out loud, dropping her gaze as they squeezed past a troop of Controllers headed in their direction. “Brother? Wow, you really are a complete moron, Cassie. That is _so_ not what he meant. Brother! Ha!”

Bright red, Castiel shoved her in the shoulder. “Shut up. Go do your hacking thing before I turn around and leave you here.”

Castiel was embarrassed that Dean had changed his name like that without asking—but he was also pretty furious. Unfortunately, that part would have to wait until they were back on the shuttle.

As casually as they could, Castiel and Charlie made their way into the complex, the barcode of C. J. Winchester getting them everywhere they needed.

Castiel knew his way around with ease, and he quickly led Charlie to the main room of terminals that allowed access to shipyard’s systems. Here, flights could be logged and requested, training could be booked, anything that required approval from higher up.

“Are you sure you can do this?” Castiel asked softly one last time, as he carefully stood behind Charlie to her right, blocking the view of her screen to the rest of the room.

“Easy peasy,” she said, her eyes already locked onto the data screen in front of her.

Typing in a command Castiel had never seen before, Charlie managed to bring up a small black box in the corner of the screen. Her surroundings ignored, her fingers were flying across the touchpad built into the desk.

Castiel could only watch in amazement as flight plans appeared on screen, departure windows booked themselves, and approvals from General Naomi stamped themselves.

“Cassie,” Charlie murmured, her gaze not leaving the screen. “Do you remember your old citizen number?”

“Uh, sure,” Castiel said, confused. “2008-IA B2676.”

Nodding, Charlie turned her attention back to the screen. Castiel looked around inconspicuously, keeping an eye on all the exits.

“The second shuttle is docking,” Charlie whispered. “I can see the arrival record.”

“Second shuttle?”

“Gabriel must have started the chain to mobilize the rest of the rebels,” Charlie said. “There’s a second shuttle docked next to ours. The pilot is Kali Novak.”

“Oh.” Castiel nodded. “Yes. Gabriel called her earlier,” he clarified, not wanting to explain any further in case they were overheard.

“Well, she made it. And the notes between the two shuttles say they’re transferring a medic onto ours. For Dean, probably.” Charlie grinned and tapped the screen proudly, before looking up at Castiel. “I’m sorry to say, though, that you are now completely broke.”

Castiel blinked, relieved then confused. “What?”

“The Council froze your account when they arrested you. I un-froze it, and just used pretty much every credit you have to purchase fuel cells for the _Nebesa_. They should be being loaded onto the ship within ten minutes, along with a bunch of other supplies.”

Castiel laughed, deep and low, still trying to keep his voice down. “Wow, Charlie. You are good.”

Closing off the monitor, she stood. “We should get going. The _Nebesa_ is authorized to launch anytime in the next three hours. It was the largest window I could get us without arousing suspicion,” she explained.

“Let’s go, then.” Castiel stepped aside, and the two of them walked calmly out of the hub, heading back toward the shuttle at a carefully measured pace.

 

                                                             

**~~***~~**

 

Dean’s relief at Castiel’s return was slightly tempered by his obvious embarrassment when Castiel called him out on his new identity.

“You made me a Winchester,” Castiel said, jabbing a finger firmly into Dean’s sternum.

Dean was spread out on one of the bench seats in the transport shuttle, his shirt off and his bottom lip between his teeth as a tall, bearded man poked and prodded at his stomach wound. He was really in no position to argue or grovel, so he simply grabbed Castiel’s hand and squeezed it hard.

“Right now, Cas?” Dean grit his teeth as the medic rooted around—for the bullet, Castiel assumed.

“Unless you want to go back in time and talk to me about it before you do it,” Castiel replied coolly, “now would be best.”

“Shit,” Dean grumbled under his breath, before looking sharply down at the tall man who was working on his wound. “Can you dig any harder there, buddy?”

The man gave a displeased glare. “Perhaps if you hadn’t insisted on running around for a couple of hours with a bullet in your middle, I wouldn’t have to dig so deep.”

Dean sighed, defeated from all angles. “Yes, Tamiel. Sorry, Tamiel.” He turned his head on the leatherette shuttle seat, looking up at Castiel, still holding his hand. “Can we pretend that it was romantic rather than creepy, for two minutes? I was in a rush, I didn’t have time to make up a whole new identity for you. So, I just thought… y’know maybe one day, if I was lucky, we’d get to that point anyway. I just rushed a little.”

Castiel glared. “A little?”

“Some.”

“Dean.”

“We can change it, Cas, it’s not a big deal. You don’t have to tell anybody.”

“Dean! Every time I walk through a door it announces that my name is C.J. Winchester!”

At that, Tamiel gave out an amused snort, which was followed by a sharp hiss from Dean.

Ignoring the Grigori, Castiel carried on, pushing his anger into his words even if he couldn’t shake Dean like he desperately wanted to. “My name _meant_ something Dean—maybe you don’t understand that, but being a Novak isn’t just a title, okay? It was who I was, my whole life. And yes—that was a lie, much of it. But you don’t get to just erase who I was without even asking me! And then, to make me a Winchester, tie me to you in that way, without even asking me first!”

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean managed, more sincerely. “I really wasn’t assuming anything—and it was wholly about me wanting you to be a Winchester, not at all that I don’t want you to be a Novak. I just got a little carried away, I didn’t think it was a big deal. And yeah, I mean, it’s kind of a nice idea to have you going around as a Winchester—as mine,” he admitted, his grin wolfish. “So, punish me, I can’t say I wholly regret it.”

Castiel opened his mouth to respond, but before he could Dean let out an almighty yell as Tamiel finally drew the bullet out of his skin.

“Looks like your Grigori friend is punishing you for me,” Castiel said, amused.

“You’re an asshole.”

“You love me.”

“Shut up—OW!” Dean threw a sharp look down at Tamiel as he began tightly binding his stomach. “If I hadn’t known you for as many years, Tam, I’d think you were torturing me on purpose.”

The tall, greying Grigori smirked. Tucking the end of the bandage in neatly, he stood, peeled off his gloves, and offered a hand to Castiel. “Commander Castiel… Novak, I take it?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, shaking hands swiftly. “Sorry about that. Dean can be a handful.”

“I’m adorable,” Dean grumbled, sitting up slowly.

Seeing the way that Dean winced and clutched at his stomach, Castiel couldn’t help but soften a little. “Well, that too,” he allowed, reaching over to give Dean a hand up to standing.

“Still mad at me?” Dean asked, finally looking at least a little cowed.

“Yes.”

“Still love me anyway?”

“Yes, though we’re going to talk about this again later.” Castiel pulled Dean into his side so he could guide him up front to where Charlie, Gabriel and Sam were waiting.

“Yes, sir.”

Castiel looked over at Dean, expecting the comment to be accompanied by a cocky grin or smirk, but instead he found only an apologetic, somewhat respectful smile. Slightly thrown, Castiel didn’t manage to answer before they arrived in the pilot’s area.

Sam and Gabriel were talking animatedly about something or other. They were stood next to Charlie, who was in the pilot’s chair once more. She frowned, ignoring everyone, focused on keying in the sequence to take them up and over to the other side of the shipyard, where the _Nebesa_ waited for them.

“How’re you feeling?” Sam asked of Dean as soon as they entered, turning his attention from Gabriel.

“Sore,” Dean admitted. “But Tamiel gave me a few healing shots so I should really start to feel better in a couple hours.”

Castiel nodded. “Yes, those things are amazing.” He paused to gesture down at his knee. “I can hardly feel this anymore after the ones you gave me.”

“Great that everyone is on the road to recovery, but I suggest you sit down and buckle in, boys!” Charlie said, grinning widely as she reached for the switch on the flight panel that would separate them from the shipyard. “We have a giant freakin’ ship to catch, after all.”

Castiel moved across to the side, flipping down one of folding seats at the side of the simple shuttle. Dean mimicked him, and they strapped in next to each other, facing Gabriel and Sam.

Charlie made a quick announcement to tell the passengers behind that they should strap in, as the journey to the ship was going to take them significantly higher—and faster—than the little jaunt up from the surface of the planet had.

Frowning, Castiel turned to ask Charlie why such safety precautions were necessary for a low-atmos flight, but Gabriel leaned over to whisper to him before he had a chance.

“Yeah, Charles over here flies like a crazy person.” Gabriel jerked a thumb in the redhead’s direction.

“I do not!” She threw back over her shoulder, disengaging the shuttle from the shipyard smoothly.

“Charlie, I had basic flight training at the Academy, you know. Maybe not all the fancy ships like Cassie here, but I can fly,” Gabriel pointed out. “You, I’m not so sure about.”

“The journey up from the city was fine,” Sam said, unhelpfully.

“The journey up from the city was _slow_ ,” Charlie said, flicking the controls over to manual and pulling the shuttle control joysticks toward her.

The ship lurched, banked, and shot vertically upwards.

Dean’s hand suddenly darted out, crushing Castiel’s fingers.

Castiel looked over at him curiously. “Dean?”

“So, uh, here’s a secret,” Dean stammered. “I fucking hate flying. Little trips up to the shipyard, I’m pretty desensitized. But any higher—”

Dean’s voice cut off and his eyes squeezed shut as Charlie rocketed them sharply upwards.

Castiel rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. _How is this now my life?_ he pondered melodramatically while Dean cut off his circulation.

                                                             

**~~***~~**

 

Dean lolled against Castiel’s shoulder as Charlie pulled the shuttle in to the side of the _Nebesa_.

“Those sedatives work crazy fast,” Sam muttered under his breath, unbuckling his brother’s seatbelt and pulling him forward so that Castiel could move.

Gabriel was delighted, still grinning to himself as he adjusted the tie of his borrowed Academy uniform and put on the matching hat. “You’ve got some drool on your shoulder there, Cassie.”

Throwing a quick glare at Gabriel, Castiel turned to Sam as he stood up. “The sedative will wear off just as quickly. So, let’s get him onto the ship and into a room with some nice, solid-feeling flooring.”

Sam nodded his agreement, hoisting Dean up to his shoulder with a hefty grunt. “Dear God, Cas, how does he not squash you? Too many burgers.”

Castiel began to laugh, but the sound trailed off from his lips and died as he looked out of the port-side window of the shuttle.

The _Nebesa_ was a truly massive ship. Gleaming white, the main structure was vaguely circular with long thruster engines mounted at the back end. She was sleek, and big enough not only to house three hundred crew, but also contain offices, science and engineering labs, and an entire military training complex. She was a city in herself, and once, Castiel had been immensely proud to be entrusted with her. Now, it was bittersweet. Flying her would end his life as he knew it, but at least everyone aboard would be free.

 

 

The shuttle had docked on her starboard side, the second one driven by Kali shortly behind. There was a long promenade, marble floored and encased within a plexiglass tunnel, that was used for loading.

Castiel’s eyes had drifted past it, to another, much smaller shuttle that was closing in on the _Nebesa_.

“Cas?” Sam sounded concerned.

Gabriel stepped up beside him, cursing low under his breath. “Raspberries. Sam, you and Charlie are in charge here for now. Get everyone off the shuttles and reconvene with Chuck and Bobby inside. Do everything you can to prepare to launch.”

“Yeah, sure—what’s happening?” Sam frowned, craning to see past Castiel with his brother awkwardly slung over his shoulder.

“That’s General Naomi’s vessel,” Gabriel explained hurriedly.

Castiel turned from the window. “If she sees me, I’m sure she’ll be distracted long enough for everyone to board.”

Dean, slumped boneless over Sam’s shoulder, let out a mumble.

Sam rolled his eyes, patting Dean on the back. “Yes, we know. He’s very distracting. Let’s get you on board, Sleeping Beauty.”

Charlie gave a low whistle as she began initiating the airlock. “Those sedatives are good, damn. Are you sure you gave him the right dose, Gabe?”

Gabriel only gave Charlie a slight side-eye before he moved across to the closet where the spare Academy uniforms had hung. He refocused, seeming agitated and tense, not even flinging out a joke about drugging Dean. Instead, his brow creased, and he jiggled the lock of a smaller, closed cabinet right next to the spare clothing storage. It wouldn’t open. Frustration pouring out of him in a series of grunts, he rammed his shoulder into the door repeatedly.

“What’s happening?” Charlie asked, standing quickly from her pilot’s seat and flicking her eyes back and forth between Castiel and Gabriel. “We’re safe to board now—Gabe?”

Gabriel managed to smash the cabinet open with another slam of his shoulder, to everyone’s surprise except Castiel’s. He’d sparred with his brother often enough to know there was a surprising amount of muscle compacted into his brother’s smaller frame.

Shoving an arm inside the crushed cabinet, Gabriel emerged with two metallic, silver sticks, pointed at one end and about the length of a forearm. He looked over at Castiel, meeting his gaze before throwing one in his direction.

Castiel caught it expertly, spinning it into his palm.

“Castiel and I will go and distract Naomi and whomever she has with her,” Gabriel said decisively. “You guys, get everyone off these shuttles. Charlie, if we take too long—” His honey-brown eyes rested on her for a long moment.

She frowned, but slowly nodded. With one finger, she reached over to press the button on the dashboard for pilot announcements. “Everybody off! Single file, into the hanger, then listen to Bobby!”

Releasing the button, her green eyes came back to rest very firmly on Castiel. She didn’t need to say anything, her glare pointed enough.

“We’ll be careful,” Castiel said, already stepping toward the exit with Gabriel.

He stopped next to Sam, placing a hand guiltily on Dean’s back. Dean lifted his head from over Sam’s shoulder, blinking blearily at Castiel. There was a frown of slow comprehension beginning to spread over his features.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel whispered, smiling gently past the panic and nerves swelling in his chest. “We need you go to with Sam, alright? You have to wake up, and then help Bobby and Chuck. Get everyone on board, get Charlie to the bridge. Gabriel and I, we’ll—we’ll join you there as soon as we can, okay?”

Dean frowned more deeply as Castiel stumbled over the last of his words, but he didn’t have a chance to object before Castiel ducked in to press a kiss to the top of his head. Dean glared harder, lifting a hand slowly to Castiel’s face—before forgetting quite what he was doing, and only succeeding in booping him on the nose.

Castiel turned away to hide his laughter, calling back as he moved through the pilot’s exit with Gabriel, “Sam! Don’t let him choke on his own drool.”

“He’s gonna be so pissed at you when he comes around properly,” Gabriel said lightly as they walked shoulder to shoulder down the marble concourse. “Throwing yourself into danger without letting him fuss at you first.”

Castiel glared. “He’s never met Naomi. It’s just safer if—”

“I know, I know,” Gabriel said defensively, raising his empty hand placatingly. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t have done the same if I were you.”

The brothers made their way in the opposite direction of the Unassigned prisoners who were now filing out of the two shuttles. They were headed inward, toward the open bay of the _Nebesa_ ; Castiel and Gabriel headed outwards, toward the other end of the loading strip, where the smaller, unwanted vessel that had followed them was beginning to dock.

As they moved past the second shuttle, Castiel could see Gabriel’s eyes searching the crowd. Sudden relief shot through his honey-whiskey gaze as it settled on the petite, dark form of his wife.

Kali moved out of the pilot area of the second shuttle, and just as Gabriel had looked for her, she immediately looked for him.

Gabriel sidestepped away from Castiel swiftly, swooping in to wrap his arms around her, kiss her, say something Castiel couldn’t hear over the exiting crowd from the second shuttle; Unassigned from the warrens and beyond, he assumed, who had been part of Bobby, Chuck, and Gabriel’s rebellion.

Castiel didn’t stop walking as Gabriel reunited with, and one again parted from, his beloved wife. His focus was ahead, on down the white marble walkway, unerring and cold. Zachariah, what he had done to him, that had felt necessary. He balanced the outcome carefully; one man who had hurt so many, against hundreds who had done no wrong. The equation doomed Zachariah more than Castiel did, and although it still sat uncomfortably, he’d do no mourning for the man.

Naomi was a different beast. While he’d never liked her, he’d respected her. For years. His entire life, in fact. Castiel’s own sister Anna worked at General Naomi’s side, Chief Commander of the City Controllers. How Anna had changed so much while she was at the Academy made complete sense, of course; going from his carefree sister to a brisk, work-obsessed woman that he and Gabriel rarely saw and ever more rarely liked. But more than that, more than his dislike for Naomi Grey and her methods and goals, this one felt personal.

The City, through Naomi, had turned his sister into the machine cog that she now was. The City, through Naomi, had turned his lifelong best friend into the man who imprisoned his own wife. The City, through Naomi, was the person who had been about to steal away everything that Castiel was and make him a moving weapon.

She represented all of it.

The heavy, shining, baton-like blade that Gabriel had thrown into Castiel’s hands slid down a couple more inches, settling familiarly into his palm. He was eager. He should have been uncomfortable, perhaps, at how keen he was to fight her, to end her. But it was the City, after all, that had honed him into a sharp tool. Unfortunately, they weren’t in control of how he was used, any more.

Gabriel jogged up to his left, rejoining him. “What’s the plan, Cassie?”

“I thought you were the one with all the plans.”

“Not for this. This is your area. I’m here to kick some ass, but under your command, baby brother.”

Castiel shot a glance sideways at Gabriel as they neared Naomi’s personal vessel—a sleek, gunmetal colored transporter christened the _Orun_ —and saw that he had settled into perfect sync with him, his blade wielded similarly, the gun Castiel had earlier provided him with settled in his other hand, just as Castiel was settling his.

“Have you ever sparred with Naomi?” Castiel asked.

“No. I think she saves that for promising final year ingenues, such as yourself.”

Castiel nodded, already planning. “We need to board the ship, keep her inside. She can’t hurt any of the Unassigned that way. All we need to do is keep her there until Charlie has the launch sequence initiated, then escape.”

“Oh, just that.”

“Indeed.”

Castiel paused, around ten feet from the door, to check the ammo in the standard-issue controller weapon he was using and slip in another magazine. Done, he looked up, facing Gabriel squarely.

“We don’t have any more ammo for that revolver you have; it was Zachariah’s. We need to disarm her and get her down to hand-to-hand range as quickly as possible. She favors her off-side; she’s left handed. She had a head injury during her own training; the back right-side of her neck is sensitive. She rarely misses.”

Castiel was strung pretty tightly already, but if anything made it worse, it was the solemnity of Gabriel’s reply.

“Yes, Commander,” Gabriel said, with no trace of a tease. “You’re our main feature, here. I’m the expendable piece. I’ll go in first.”

Opening his mouth to object, Castiel was quickly silenced by Gabriel talking right over him.

“You’re the only one that can drive that ship, Cas. You get out of this alive, or no one does.”

Butterflies of nerves had fluttered into Castiel’s stomach on the way down the concourse, but their wings grew and feathered with fear, turning into screeching, clawing birds of prey that ripped at his insides. He tried to moisten his lips, but found his tongue as parched as his skin.

He nodded, and they boarded.

 


	13. Chapter 13

The inside of the _Orun_ was plush, as grotesque as Zachariah’s office but with more moving parts.

Castiel had never been aboard her before, but he knew the layout of the Class 6-H surface-to-air transports; they were all the same, even if this one had been given a makeover by an opulent religious nut at some point in the past.

Luckily, having been through basic training even if he’d pretended to be no good at it, Gabriel could understand Castiel’s silent commands.

Two fingers raised, turned to the right, then a small loop, then hand flat.

_Take the right side, survey, return and report._

They crept along the corridor that took them from the ships bay, which was suspiciously quiet, up toward the front of the vessel.

With knowledge that came from somewhere in his ribcage between his heart and his diaphragm, rather than from conscious thought, Castiel knew that Naomi would be waiting in the pilot’s cabin. She knew he’d come, so she’d be in an advantageous spot, waiting.

The relative emptiness of the ship told him he was right.

The _Orun_ , small as she was, wasn’t fit to hold many people, but he was sure Naomi would have brought Controllers with her. They were much more expendable than she was. As they neared the front of the ship, they finally began to encounter them.

Gabriel, in front, raised a hand, fingers splayed out.

_Stop._

Tweaked his outer three fingers, then curled them to his palm.

_Three guards. Ahead. Not moving._

Wracking his brain for the details of the blueprint this class of flyer was built from, memorized through many a long night of diligent study, Castiel assessed their best course of action.

Gabriel looked back to him, and he signaled quickly, hoping that his brother would remember some of the more complex sign language.

_Balcony. Above us. Stairs will be guarded. Stand on my shoulders; I’ll boost you up. Approach from above._

Gabriel squinted, but his eyes followed, his tongue working and twisting under his lower lip in concentration. His eyes flicked upward, and he saw. A nod, and he came forward.

Castiel crouched down on one knee and braced the other, much healed though still feeling a bit bruised, and suppressed the small grunt that threatened as Gabriel put his boot on it. The thankfully smaller man moved up from Castiel’s leg to his shoulder like climbing a step ladder. When his brother had both feet on his shoulders, Castiel held his ankles and carefully stood.

Baton stowed in his belt, Castiel twisted his hands under the soles of Gabriel’s boots and pushed upwards, extending his arms to thrust Gabriel up into the air. Castiel’s muscles strained against the thin white Academy uniform—it wasn’t really tailored for weight-lifting exercises, particularly when the weight was another full human. He gritted his teeth, and slowly exhaled in relief as Gabriel managed to grasp at the bottom of the balcony railing and began to pull himself up.

Castiel waited, hoping.

He bit his lip and pushed down his jittering stomach, until he tasted copper and felt lead.

Three rapid gun shots… and then no more.

With relief, Castiel puffed out a held breath as Gabriel dropped down from the balcony with a pleased grin on his face.

 _Mission accomplished, Commander,_ he signed.

The proud grin that Castiel threw to his brother wasn’t in the least bit Commander-like, but it was genuine and warm.

Castiel extended his hand out flat from his arm, turned with his thumb upright.

_Let’s go._

The most vulnerable they would be was when they ascended the stairs to the pilot’s chamber from the main bridge, Castiel reasoned. So he took care, and they cleaned out the small ship floor by floor, making sure no one would be coming behind them.

Castiel was calm about it taking them a little time. The longer they were on this ship, the longer Naomi would be. And that meant longer that the Winchesters had to get everyone onto the _Nebesa_ and safely out of the loading bay.

 _Dean is probably awake by now,_ Castiel thought. _He’s probably cursing like crazy because of me._

Pushing the thought away, deliberately—worrying about Dean was a distraction he couldn’t afford—Castiel moved up next to Gabriel as they reached the bottom of the short staircase that rose from the bridge. At the top was an archway that would lead them directly into the front cabin of the ship. It would be a wide, semi-circular room with floor to ceiling windows, a navigation panel, a few chairs. Likely a small table, for planning and mapping.

But no real cover, no real place to hide.

Gabriel signed, palm up, fingers splaying wide.

_How to proceed?_

Castiel snapped in a fresh magazine, the last one he had. He slid his silver baton from his hip and snapped it forward, the mechanism within lighting the tip blue-white in anticipation. Holding it out horizontally before himself, prepared, Castiel rested his readied gun atop the fist that held it, giving himself a steady platform. Safety off, he flicked his eyes over to Gabriel as he stepped forward. There was no sign for it, but their shared look was clear.

_Guns blazing._

Shoulder to shoulder, Castiel and Gabriel took up the width of the stairway.

In unison, they darted forward, bursting into the room, guns raised and ready. Castiel and Gabriel let off matching shots, and the inhabitants of the room fell back immediately; just a step or two was all the brothers needed to be able to get into the navigation area with them.

Castiel wanted this to be contained.

Naomi was a fairly tall, brunette woman with a permanently severe expression. She always wore a smart, white linen suit and pulled her hair back into a prim bun. She was no different then, as she stood stiffly with her back to the pilot’s navigation panel, watching the doorway.

Three Controllers, one on either side of the room and one standing silently next to Naomi, had their rifles trained on Castiel and Gabriel. They wore full combat helmets, tinted and faceless, and they had already been training their weapons at the door, just waiting for the two brothers to enter.

Castiel came to a halt, Gabriel falling in beside him, and for a moment there was an uncomfortable, silent stalemate.

“The disgraced Lieutenant Colonel Novak,” Naomi smiled emotionlessly. “And of course, the erstwhile Judge Novak. Welcome. You took your time.”

Castiel was silent, Gabriel followed his lead. He let Naomi talk, taking in the room, trying to work out how to turn the number disadvantage back to their direction. He waited.

“Adding the murder of the Potentate of the City to your resume was unwise, Castiel.” She sighed, though there was no care in it. “You could have gone so far, under my wing. Now look at you! Your family would have been so disappointed in you.”

Castiel still said nothing, though he couldn’t control his lip involuntarily curling back from his teeth in disgust.

“I dunno,” Gabriel spoke up, pulling her eyes for just a moment. “Some of his family are pretty damn proud of him, lady.”

“Close your mouth, Gabriel, you’re lowering the IQ of the room,” she replied dryly, pushing back against the navigation panel to take a step forward, away from it.

“What’s the matter Naomi, were you an only child?”

While Gabriel baited the General, Castiel slid his foot slowly to the left, distributing his weight over to one side. His gun moved only the tiniest of fractions; a slither of an inch that took Castiel from a reaction to a plan.

He aimed, keeping his eyes on Naomi until the very last second, allowing her to berate Gabriel.

“Aren’t you ashamed, Gabriel? You kept order in the City! You helped us! You—”

“Shut your cakehole, you don’t know anything.”

Castiel fired.

The Controllers all adjusted their rifles onto him in an instant, but the room froze as Naomi’s hand shot up, signing for them not to fire. She turned her disturbing smile onto Castiel.

“Oh Castiel, really? You take one shot like that, and you miss?”

Castiel smiled calmly.

Next to Naomi’s foot, on the floor, the single bullet he’d let loose rolled. The tip crushed, it lay in silent victory, already having hit exactly what he wanted it to.

Behind Naomi, the navigation panel lit up. A single bullet hole smoked gently, plastic cracked in spiderwebs around the impact point. But if he was lucky—

 _Homing procedure initiated,_ the system announced. _Orun 6-H, Autopilot engaged._

A smug sense of accomplishment wormed its way through the other emotions that were already clogging up the entirety of Castiel’s edgy central nervous system.

The small ship shuddered as the bay door hydraulics fired, and the launch sequence began.

The General’s face slid through a series of expressions before landing on pure fury, as the realization of what Castiel had done sunk in. She reached to her waist, whipping out the baton that rested at her belt with an angry growl.

By the time Naomi turned the ship back to dock, the _Nebesa’s_ doors would be closed. Charlie would see to that. Maybe Charlie couldn’t jump the ship into other solar systems like he could, but she could take them to another planet in this one. Naomi could kill them, Castiel and Gabriel both, but she’d never redock the ship and board the _Nebesa_ in time.

The Unassigned could escape.

Gabriel gave a dark grin. “Checkmate, bitch.”

Castiel flicked his eyes over to Gabriel, hoping and desperately praying that his brother could read him as well as he needed.

He turned his eyes very deliberately to the Controller flanking the side of the room closest to him, then back to Naomi.

“Can’t you see what you’ve done, Castiel?!” Naomi was bellowing now, leaning slightly forward, a single strand of brown hair falling from her perfect bun and swinging down to her face. “There is blood everywhere! And it’s all on your hands!”

Looking back to Gabriel, Castiel took a deep breath.

Simultaneously—thank goodness—they both moved.

Castiel swung his gun sharply left, moving as fast as he could to loosen a few bullets into the stomach of the Controller that watched him, unmoving, waiting for Naomi’s word. As his finger squeezed the trigger he dove forward, rolling, missing Naomi’s downward swipe with her baton, and the first flare of fire from the Controller at her side.

Gabriel copied his action flawlessly.

Castiel kept rolling, scrambling back to his feet and spinning on his heel, gun directed straight back toward Naomi. He couldn’t look away from her, couldn’t afford the split-second, but his peripheral vision told him the two nameless Controllers at the room’s edges were unmoving. Gabriel and Castiel were both good shots.

Both the final Controller and Naomi were advancing on Castiel now, a stalemate of gun barrels and furious expressions.

Gabriel stood off to the right, frozen. He cast aside the silver gun he held, finally running out of Zachariah’s ammo. He transferred his baton to his right hand, holding it up defensively, waiting.

“Come now, Castiel. Come willingly, think of the innocent lives lost.” Naomi’s head tilted toward one of the dead controllers. “You can prevent more waste.”

“I don’t want to kill anyone, except you,” Castiel hissed. He looked to the silent Controller to her right. “These people at your side don’t even want to be here!”

“Oh, some of them do. Some of them are here specifically for you,” Naomi said cryptically.

Castiel frowned, but didn’t rise to the bait.

“Your pathetic little crusade for freedom, for—what is it you’ve been calling it? Free will?” Naomi smirked. “Our City works, Castiel. People live peacefully. Why disrupt that? You’ve upset people, it’s to be expected.”

“Shut. Up.” Castiel gritted his teeth, tightening his grip around his gun. “I will shoot you, Naomi. Don’t think I’m not willing to stand here and take a bullet to get rid of you. Stand down, or die.”

Naomi’s eyes slid over to the unnamed Controller next to her. She sighed, a sad, mocking little sound. “Shame. Such a shame.”

As if on a signal, the Controller next to her reached up and pulled off his helmet.

Castiel’s world suddenly went quiet, and fuzzy. Everything was wrong. It couldn’t be—

“Hello, Castiel,” said Balthazar.

Off to the side, Castiel heard Gabriel gasp melodramatically. He saw his baton waving in Balthazar’s direction.

“Dude, not cool,” Gabriel understated.

It wasn’t the time for talking, but Castiel’s mouth seemed to be working of its own accord. “You’re supposed to be on the _Paraiso_ ,” he said, blinking. His hand trembled, but he kept the gun up, not waving from Naomi.

“Yes,” Balthazar agreed calmly. “Indeed. The General thought that my talents might be better used here, of course.”

Gabriel snorted. “Talents? Come on Balthy, this isn’t about _you_ or your abilities at all, don’t flatter yourself. You’re just here to distract Cassie. You’re just a moving piece in her endless damned machine.”

Balthazar’s eyes flickered away from Castiel and slowly across to Gabriel.

Castiel took the opening for what it was, and shot the last bullet from his magazine into the flesh of Naomi’s wrist.

It was chaos, then.

Naomi screamed, her gun dropped to the floor, and Gabriel’s baton came up as he dove bodily at Balthazar, pushing him away from Castiel.

Castiel was left in front of Naomi as the other two men grappled on the floor, seeking to disarm each other.

Naomi bared her teeth, a gesture so animalistic that it left Castiel shocked she even had that much emotion in her.

Castiel leapt forward, pushing all his weight into her space and knocking her back. He kicked her gun across the floor, shoving his own spent weapon back into his belt. With a sharp _crack_ , Naomi’s baton came to life, and Castiel’s followed suit.

The silver blades, forearm length and sharp, shimmered with crackling electricity as they circled each other.

With deep breaths, Castiel focused. He’d done this before, he’d fought her before. He’d never won—but now wasn’t the time to dwell on that.

Gabriel and Balthazar yelled and tussled and furniture crashed, but Castiel didn’t let his eyes wander.

Naomi. Naomi was the one he’d come for.

She attacked first, feinting to his left. He smacked aside her baton with his own easily, a shower of blue-white sparks flying out from the spot where the metal met. Immediately she spun and jabbed right, her intended hit, but Castiel predicted it, easily sidestepping.

He held his blade high, coming in fast, directly forward, their eyes locked. The move was one-part sheer force and one-part intimidation. Naomi was good, very good, and much more experienced in combat than Castiel, as he was easily fifteen years her junior. But Castiel was strong, six feet of coiled, angry muscle.

Naomi blocked him up high. Electric flashes fireworked down around them, arcing across Castiel’s vision as they locked eyes; his deep oceanic blue to her pale, icy imitation. The clang of the silver blades as they crashed together was loud and ringing, a new layer of melody to the bass of grunts and yells from Gabriel and Balthazar.

Castiel couldn’t stop to see how Gabriel was doing, or to even look at Balthazar, his long-time best friend. He could only focus on Naomi’s pale skin, the wrinkles of her brow made deeper by the hatred compressing her face. Pressing his weight through his biceps, Castiel shoved her back, stumbling a few steps.

Behind him, a loud, glimmering _crack_ announced the connection of someone’s blade to someone’s skin. The fizz of jumping electricity filled the air, a faint whiff of burning hair—the smell of fifty-thousand volts. Castiel was concerned, but couldn’t turn, keeping on Naomi.

She stepped, he stepped, boxing her in, blades swinging, never looking away.

Gabriel landed on his back on the table to Castiel’s left, his weight shunting it back a couple of feet until it hit the pilot’s chair. In his peripheral, Castiel noted Gabriel’s exhaustion, the patch of blackened hair at his temple, the blood that seeped from his brow. He didn’t have time to catalog more, Naomi coming at him again, feral.

Castiel spun away from her, sliding over the table as Gabriel vacated it, putting it between them to buy himself seconds.

With a flicker of pride, Castiel saw Gabriel use his smaller frame to his advantage, tucking down as Balthazar swung, putting him off balance. He brought his blade back up as Balthazar tipped forward, smacking the side of the baton across the nape of the taller man’s neck.

The flash of blue-white sparks left behind a sizzling, black burn, and for a moment, Balthazar was knocked out cold, tased to unconsciousness.

Gabriel didn’t waste time, and Castiel reacted automatically to his brother as he circled back around behind Naomi, trapping her between them.

Naomi lunged at Castiel, batons locked at their chests, dancing in the sparks. But Gabriel followed her in, and she realized she was now outnumbered just a split-second too late.

Gabriel’s weapon hit the back of her head, the point buried into the top of her neck.

There was an uncomfortable, electrical sizzling that Castiel could smell, and hear, and feel in the hairs on his arms. Her eyes went wide, her mouth went slack, and as Gabriel grit his teeth and pushed harder, pure fury, she slumped.

Cold, Castiel kicked up, his foot landing firmly on her sternum. With a sickening crunch, she flew back onto Gabriel’s blade, skewered.

Electricity crackled through her, the blue white light of the taser that erupted from her mouth lighting her skull eerily from within.

She crumpled one step at a time; first to her knees, then to her hips, then sideways, sprawled, twitching.

Castiel stared down at the immobile form of the woman who had controlled the minds of a City. On the floor, a tiny puddle of blood beneath her, she looked a lot smaller.

Everything was quiet.

It made what happened next all the more jarring.

A long roar of gunfire, loud and echoing in the small room. A Controller’s rifle, grasped in Balthazar’s hand as he dragged himself back to standing with one finger tight on the trigger.

For a moment, Castiel didn’t understand. He wasn’t hurt. He looked across to Gabriel, confused, frowning.

Gabriel looked back, silent. Then his lips parted, his blonde eyebrows raised in the tiniest of surprises.

Then the blood came.

It dribbled thickly from Gabriel’s mouth as he swayed on his feet, his expression disbelief and fear as he stumbled slowly forward into Castiel.

“No!” Castiel reached forward, catching Gabriel under his arms as he slumped into him. “No, no—”

There was a clatter as Balthazar dropped the rifle, spent, and groped across the floor for Naomi’s fallen baton, beginning to push up to his knees.

Behind Castiel, there was a growing sense of heat; the ship’s navigation panel, he guessed, swallowing every bullet that Gabriel hadn’t taken, and reacting in spectacular fashion with pops and bangs and flames.

Castiel moved forward as if his body was someone else’s, watching from another place as he let go of his brother to leap at his best friend.

Snarling, wild, uncontrolled.

Balthazar looked up, smug, smiling, not his best friend at all. He was woozy, still stumbling from being tased in the back of the head. He didn’t stand a chance.

There was no fight.

Castiel’s first swing knocked the weapon from Balthazar’s hand, his second settled the point of his blade deep between his best friend’s ribs.

Balthazar’s face fell slowly, and he sat back, his legs folded under him. He frowned, something in his eyes flickering, a fear or confusion that Castiel couldn’t place.

“Cassie?” Balthazar said, weak, before he fell silent, face slack.

He was gone before he hit the floor, his expression vacant as puddles of blood spread like wings from beneath his back.

Castiel floated somewhere above himself.

He moved across to the flaming navigation panel, which was fast becoming an entire flaming wall, and calmly hit the sequence to move the ship back to the dock. He didn’t have the presence of mind left to wonder whether it would register in the ship’s mainframe before the creeping flames caught it alight. He didn’t even stop to hope. He just worked on autopilot, following procedure, a good soldier.

He drifted back across the room, his eyes unable to leave Balthazar as he dropped to his knees, pulling Gabriel into his lap.

The flames, the alarms, the automated emergency announcements that played across the _Orun’s_ communications system; Castiel heard none of it, deafened by loss.

Gabriel’s body was still warm as Castiel cradled it, stubbornly ignoring the thick gush of crimson from his mouth that was reaching down to meet the climbing red from his stomach. Castiel didn’t want to see it. He bent forward and rocked his brother, eyes squeezed tight as if he could pretend it wasn’t real.

The _Orun_ returned to the _Nebesa_ and began to dock.

Castiel didn’t notice, victorious, but defeated.

 

**~~***~~**

 

The first sensation that Castiel registered was a vicious stinging in his eyes, from hot tears and smoke. The second was someone shaking his shoulder, cupping his face, running thumbs along his cheekbones. Another set of hands, different to the first pair that still comforted him, tried to untangle his fists from the wet, crimson soaked shirt he held.

“Cas, we have to go, come on baby, you gotta move—”

Green, everything was green again, and Castiel slumped forward for a moment, relief and grief choking him in equal parts.

“Cas, you need to let go of him,” came a second voice, gentle but firm. “We don’t have a lot of time—”

He blinked, trying to take everything in. The alarms registered, and suddenly everything was bright, and loud, and orange. He ducked his head back down, preferring green.

“I’ve got you, it’s okay,” Dean soothed. “But you gotta let go, Cas. You have to let him go.”

Castiel blinked, dumb.

Then he felt the weight in his lap, the curl of what had been his brother over his thighs. Castiel’s shoulders curved inward, cradling Gabriel’s head in his lap so that his sleeves, thankfully, obscured the blood still trickling from his brother’s mouth.  He choked, loud enough for his own ears now, and began to feel the sobs that were wracking his body.

“No, no—” More gasping. “No, I can’t—I can’t leave him here, he needs a medic, he needs—”

“Cas, no.” Sam’s voice was firm. Understanding, but absolute. “He’s gone, Cas. Let him go.”

“But he might—”

“Cas.” It was Dean, this time. “He’s dead, baby. I’m so sorry. So, so sorry. But you have to let him go so we can get out of here.”

Chest heaving, Castiel took in Dean crouched in front of him. His hands were still on his cheeks, his shoulders, everywhere. Grounding him. Castiel was sticky from sweat and snot and tears. But suddenly he felt dry, his lips cracking and his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. “No,” he sobbed again, one last time, weaker.

Dean was pulling him up to his feet. Sam was moving the body— _Gabriel—_ to the side, peeling the blood-soaked fabric from between Castiel’s cramped fingers.

The ship, packed with the heat of flames all around now, moved. No… Castiel moved.

Dean was half-carrying, half-dragging him through the ship. His own feet were helping on occasion, but as smoke-filled coughs ripped from Castiel’s lungs, it was really all Dean.

Sam ran ahead then, pushing open the _Orun’s_ ornate, heavy doors and holding them while Dean pulled Castiel past.

“How—you’re here,” Castiel observed dumbly, past coughs and a brain full of smoke.

“Of course we are,” Dean noted, as if Castiel had said something silly. “We can’t leave the Commander of the ship behind, can we?”

“But—”

“We saw the ship launching away from the _Nebesa_ ,” Sam explained, more helpful than Dean. “Didn’t quite understand at first, but then your boyfriend here—” Sam jerked a thumb. “—flipped his absolute shit. Said there was no way he, or anyone else on the whole ship, was leaving the Glass City without you. Bobby and Chuck got a right earful, I’m telling you.”

Castiel felt hazy and fond, and he hoped that his smile across at Dean showed it.

“I was about to hop in a shuttle and try drive it after you myself,” Dean admitted, “but then—thank God—you turned around. Thought everything was going to be okay, until we saw the flames. Luckily Charlie intercepted Naomi’s transmissions back down to the shipyard, so at least no one is coming up here after her.”

“You both came.” Castiel stated, his eyes sliding to Sam as they made it down the ramp and out of the _Orun_.

Sam nodded, something apologetic about his motion, though he didn’t voice it. “Of course we both came. You’re family.”

Out on the marble concourse, Castiel realized night had fallen. The marble strip along the side of the _Nebesa_ where shuttles could dock was light, but beyond the plexiglass tunnel, the sky was black and star-splattered.

As soon as their feet were solidly on the ground, people surged around, as if the Winchesters’ return was their cue. The medic, Tamiel, pushed Sam aside and knelt on the marble in front of Castiel, flashing lights into his eyes and ordering him to cough as per his instructions.

Dean wouldn’t leave, his hand still clasped on Castiel’s shoulder, even as Tamiel did his job.

Next to the impromptu medical examination, other people bustled past, shouting, giving instructions. Castiel saw Charlie out of the corner of his eye, and a few faces he recalled from the warrens, nameless but vaguely familiar. A stocky, bearded man gave gruff instructions, and the haphazard crew began to manually disengage the _Orun_ from the _Nebesa_.

 _Oh, right,_ Castiel thought. _Fire. Fire bad._

He felt so very heavy.

Tamiel was reassuring Dean that he would be fine, that he just needed some fresh air, that he’d breathed a little smoke but otherwise, he was unharmed.

Castiel begged to differ, as he watched the flaming remains of the _Orun_ unlock from the _Nebesa’s_ side and begin to drift almost beautifully away into the clouds.

When successful, celebrated and high-ranking military officers of the Glass City died, their bodies were laid to rest in beautiful caskets upon their personal ships. The vessels, given to one officer for the duration of their usually short careers, were ejected into space, where they lit the sky like stars for days until they burnt up reentering the atmosphere. It was a mark of respect for the relationship between the man and his command.

Gabriel hadn’t commanded a ship, and Balthazar hadn’t even been in command of himself, for some time.

But nonetheless, the blazing ship became their tomb, in a parody of what the City would never have given either of them, thinking them undeserving in their differing failures.

Castiel couldn’t bring himself to salute, as he should have done. The gesture felt too hollow; instead he let Dean hold him, and watched the ship drift off into the dark sky, to become just one more light that would go out among the million stars.

 

 

**~~***~~**

 

They moved to the _Nebesa_ in silence.

Castiel was guided inward by Dean, who followed signs and plans until eventually he found a large, empty bathroom on the main crew level. He leaned Castiel against the line of ten new, porcelain sinks, turning on one of the taps to warm the water.

Castiel saw Dean’s face dip in front of his, searching for his eyes, but he didn’t try to force him to meet them. Instead, Dean took his hands in his own, and began washing the blood from his palms, fingers and arms, rubbing the pads of his calloused fingers in small circles over Castiel’s nails to dislodge the dried flakes.

Castiel lost track of time, and he wasn’t sure when Dean had started coaxing him to talk.

“Cas, hey, talk to me.” Dean’s voice was so soft, so gentle, the verbal equivalent of a careful tip-toe. “I can’t even think about how I’d feel if I lost Sam. I can’t. Please say something.”

Castiel couldn’t speak. That involved another part of his brain, it seemed, one that was currently occupied looking down at his hands, watching as Dean scrubbed and scrubbed. Gabriel’s blood washed down the drain, gone, just like him. To Castiel, his hands still looked crimson. They always would.

He was so grateful for Dean.

It overwhelmed him, momentarily. This man—this ridiculous, flirtatious, caricature of a man—had turned out to be so much more than Castiel had thought he was, and had somehow seen fit to turn his care and attention onto _him,_ of all people. The most undeserving. The most spoiled, ignorant, freefalling failure.

Castiel gazed at him, wide-eyed, before looking back down to his hands, now clean and being patted gently with Dean’s own shirt, in lieu of a cloth.

“I failed,” Castiel said.

“No you didn’t,” Dean countered. “You saved the lives of hundreds of innocent people. You set an example for thousands more. You blew a giant hole in the middle of a regime… not to mention a city. In what possible way did you fail?”

“I failed _him._ ”

“He’d have been proud of you. He was proud of you. You didn’t fail him, he chose to go with you. His sacrifice, not your blame.” Dean reached forward, cautious in the way he slid his hands up Castiel’s back to his shoulder blades, as if unsure whether he wanted to be touched.

But Castiel did want to be touched; he wanted to bury himself in Dean and never look at the rest of the world again. “I just—after everything, to get so far, it just seems—” Castiel sighed. “Why?”

Dean watched Castiel’s futile, almost childish question fall from his lips, but he didn’t mock it. “Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why.”

Castiel’s tiny smile came unbidden, and he was grateful for it. “I’m going to find every bit of Vonnegut on this ship and eject it into space, just so you have to come up with your own cheesy lines.”

Dean shook his head, burying his lips in Castiel’s hair. “No use, my love. I’ve memorized every one of those fuckers.”

Leaning into Dean, Castiel gave a low, entirely humorless chuckle. “Of course you have.”

They rested for a minute more, breathing, letting the quiet settle around them. Castiel focused on taking air through his nose and slowly releasing it through his mouth, and Dean deliberately rubbed his back in time to his rising ribs.

“Do you think you could make it upstairs now, lover?” Dean asked, once Castiel’s breaths were calm and loose.

“Upstairs?”

“There’s a whole bunch of people up there waiting to see what you’re going to do with them, where you’re going to drop them off at. I have a few people to introduce you to, as well.”

Castiel blinked. “Right. Of course.” He flicked his eyes over to the door, feeling nerves deep in his chest. “Will you come with me? They need someone strong, and I—”

“And you’re the strongest person on this ship,” Dean interrupted firmly. “But of course I’ll come with you.”

People stared, wherever he walked.

Dean took him straight to meet an older Unassigned named Bobby; Castiel remembered Dean describing him as a father figure, and so he did his best not to seem like he was falling apart. Bobby eyed him quietly, before shaking his hand in a firm, approving way.

“Welcome to the family, Commander.” Bobby didn’t smile, but the way his eyes flickered between Castiel and Dean gave Castiel the sense of some underlying amusement. “It’s about time someone kept Dean in line.”

Dean shifted in what might have been embarrassment. “You done checking him out, old man?” he said. “He probably needs to get up to the bridge.”

Bobby nodded. “Congratulations, you two. I expect some kinda notice next time you’re callin’ someone a Winchester, Dean.”

Castiel thought he saw a hint of a smirk pass over the dry, gruff man’s bearded face, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“Yes, Sir,” Dean said, and if Castiel thought he sounded a little ashamed, he said nothing of it.

They returned to walking, making a stop by the supply rooms to find Castiel clothing that wasn’t covered in the stains of everyone he’d lost. Dean helped him peel the heart-breaking clothing from his skin, and only kissed away the couple of tears that fell, without a word. In a crisp, clean Commander’s uniform, and with Dean by his side, Castiel continued making his way through his ship.

The worst moment came when Kali came up to them in the corridor outside of the bridge. “I am so sorry,” Castiel had told her, hollow words to herald the death of an adored husband, he knew.

Kali was regal, and strong, and perhaps only those who knew her as well as Castiel did would have seen the way she fell apart inside. Outwardly she merely inclined her head, took a moment, and excused herself.

Castiel envied her emotional control, even as forced as it clearly was. He added ensuring that she was looked after to his mental list of things to do in the coming days. He may not have been the one to kill Gabriel, but he’d make penance for his death, regardless.

He would tell Charlie about Balthazar when they were alone, later, he decided. She had already mourned him once, as a friend and accomplice even if the two had never been romantic. But even so, she deserved the truth, Castiel believed.

It was a heavy trip, up to the long corridor that led to the bridge. It felt almost endless, but Castiel figured his emotions were just making him dramatic—so he steeled himself, and got on with it.

Bobby, Sam, and Charlie seemed to be making a solid effort at organization. They had grouped the unassigned based on their self-professed skills and had them taking the ships aptitude tests to work out where they’d be the most help. Sam was gathering lists of names, locating dormitories, reuniting families. Bobby cast a critical eye over the supply rooms, and Charlie was taking stock of the ship herself.

“She’s beautiful, Cassie,” she said, falling into line beside Castiel and Dean as they made their way further up the corridor. “Best Commander in the universe, you deserve a ship like this.”

Castiel gave a distracted, dismissive snort, his thoughts drifting. Luckily, Dean’s hand was in his, and he led him on up to the command center of the ship.

The bridge was buzzing with people. They were busy, filling out aptitude tests on the screens and talking excitedly among one another, not looking at Castiel at all. But, the longer he stood quietly in the corner, the more Castiel began to feel like they were deliberately not looking at him; somehow that felt even worse than the staring.

_So I change, take off the blood, and now they don’t want to look?_

His stomach rolled again, and he crossed his arms across his abdomen.

“Heya, Cas.” Dean pulled his attention back as soon as they came through the doorway from the service corridor beyond. “Thanks for coming up here—there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Someone else?” Cas asked, his mouth dry. The walk up had been a long parade of names and hazy faces.

“This one is important.”

Dean grasped Castiel’s hand firmly, tugging him away from the wall and leading him straight across the bridge, in full-view of the careful not-lookers. Castiel felt Dean pressing at his fingers; _squeeze, squeeze._ It was a strange little habit they’d developed, comforting and grounding when either needed it.

_Squeeze, squeeze._

_Love you, you too._

Castiel clung back desperately, though he held his head high, face blank. Dean could know he needed it; no one else should.

“Wait here one sec,” Dean said quickly, gesturing for Castiel to wait in a quiet corner of the balcony.

He moved across to one of the desks, tapping someone on the shoulder. He wore a faded, rust-colored hooded sweatshirt and soft pants. Slightly greying, scruffy around the edges, the man looked familiar. Dean whispered something in his ear, and the man’s blue eyes, bright on his otherwise softly tanned face, widened.

He turned to look directly at Castiel.

Patting Dean on the shoulder, the man approached. “Castiel,” he inclined his head as he spoke. His voice a was a little nervous, sad, and slow. “I’m sorry we had to meet like this. My name is Chuck, I—”

“Gabriel’s father,” Castiel burst out before he could stop himself.

The small man nodded, smiling although his lips pulled tightly, uncomfortable looking. He didn’t say anything else, and for a minute they just looked at each other.

Castiel initially wasn’t sure how he ended up with the man’s arms around his shoulders, or why he was shushing him, or why the not-lookers were moving away. He pitied them, truly. If they’d seen him soaked in Gabriel’s blood and seen fit to stare, they could see him mourn him, he didn’t care.

It said far too much about their lives that they were curious about the blood, but afraid of the tears. The City was responsible for more horrors than Castiel could imagine, he knew that much.

After an indeterminable amount of time, Castiel pulled back, steeling his face once more.

“I would be honored if you would let me get to know you, Chuck,” he said, forcing a smile. “At least during the time it takes us to get wherever we’re going.”

Chuck gave him a strange little smile. “Well, where we go is up to you Castiel, like everything else. But I’d be glad to get to know you. I’d like to have someone I can talk about my son with, if nothing else.”

Castiel’s chest constricted tightly, but Dean’s hand appeared from nowhere back in his, and he forced out a nod. “Of course.”

Dean moved him off into the quieter corridors, saying nothing until they were alone, walking down a long stretch of white.

“Are you okay, Cas?” he asked carefully. “I mean, I know you’re not okay, but—”

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel nodded. “I’m as okay as I can be. Thank you. I’m glad you introduced me to Chuck, that was thoughtful. And I was glad to meet Bobby earlier, also. Even if I sense he was teasing me about my name, just like everyone else.”

Dean winced. “Well, you got your own back by knocking me out—”

“You were hysterical. That doesn’t count.”

“So, I should expect you to be mad a while longer, then?”

Castiel looked over to his left where Dean walked, dragging his eyes up and down Dean’s frame. He looked tired, his sandy hair almost as much of a mess as Castiel’s own for a change, dark circles beneath his eyes. His clothing, the ill-fitting Controller uniform they’d stolen from the Council chamber that morning— _Gods, that feels like days ago_ —was crumpled and tinged with smoke and blood splatters. Regardless of it all, Dean was still beautiful, and Castiel let his eyes linger a little.

“What?” Dean smirked, catching his inspection.

“There are worse names to have,” Castiel conceded. “I’m not mad. I was never really _mad,_ the idea of changing my name doesn’t horrify me, Dean. But—” Castiel raised a brow, seeing a teasing retort forming on Dean’s lips and talking straight over it, “—you need to learn to communicate better, Dean. As do I, I’m aware. No making decisions without at least talking to each other first.”

Dean stopped walking, tugging Castiel’s arm to spin him back so that he bumped into Dean’s chest, immediately wrapped in his arms, nose to nose. Dean’s expression was contrite, but also hopeful and warm as he pulled Castiel close to him. “I’m sorry, Cas. You’re right.”

Exhaling involuntarily as his chest knocked into Dean’s, Castiel let Dean’s presence thaw him and push his melancholy away, just for a moment. He smiled across into Dean’s hopeful eyes, before pushing their lips together, dry and chapped and warm and familiar. “Good,” he said simply.

Castiel tried to deepen their kiss, so of course Dean turned it playful and light, because he was nothing if not a bit of an ass like that. He laughed softly, dragging his lips up Castiel’s stubble to the hinge of his jaw.

Dean’s voice was low and rumbling, hot air, need and hope against the shell of Castiel’s ear. “So, I get to keep you, lover?”

Castiel felt his chest warm—both inside and out—at the deep, hungrily optimistic words, and the heat travelled swiftly up his neck to his cheeks. “Always,” he confirmed, a grin against the side of Dean’s face.

Both took a deep breath and a small step back, bringing some sense of propriety back between them with a small smile.

Dean offered his hand again, tugging and indicating up the corridor with their joined hands. “Come on then, Commander. Bobby planned to get all the Unassigned assembled in the mess hall, so we better go make some plans and get the hell out of here, don’t you think?”

Castiel nodded, and they walked.

With no leader to follow, no Gabriel to lean on, Castiel felt somewhat adrift. He’d been trained to Command this ship; but on a specific mission, with at least some trained crew. Bobby and Chuck seemed to lead the Unassigned, but they were free—they didn’t bow down to anyone, that Castiel had seen. He didn’t know how to proceed, or what these people would want from him.

He could take them to a trading post, he supposed, one of the off-world spots that the City used to trade with distant planets, giving them access to resources their destroyed world was long void of. Perhaps that would be best. It didn’t sit right in his stomach, but he didn’t feel like the person to be making these decisions.

“I can hear your gears turning from over here. What’re you worrying about?” Dean asked, as they made their way up in a mirrored elevator, heading to the balcony above the crew hall.

“This is—it’s just a lot,” Castiel struggled to explain.

Dean’s smile was lazy, a confidence in it that Castiel didn’t quite share, but appreciated. “You’ve got this, baby. Come on.” Dean nudged him forward as the elevator doors opened. “Let’s go.”

Castiel stepped out onto the oratory balcony that jutted out over one end of the huge crew hall.

Hundreds of eyes were staring back up at him, quiet, waiting. There were far more people than Castiel had expected; not just the Unassigned from the jail, but at least another couple hundred, he guessed, from the Warrens and beyond.

Castiel grabbed at Dean’s arm, pulling him close enough to hiss at in panic. “Dean! I don’t know what to do with all these people—why did they all come here?”

Dean smiled at him, and there was a soft, affectionate look to it, as if Castiel was being adorably stupid, in Dean’s eyes. “They all chose to be here, lover. They could have stayed in the city, but instead, they came to the ship. They have no intention of being dropped off on some trading rock, Cas. They came for you.”

“Me?” Castiel’s throat dried out as he saw his friends gathered on the bridge. Charlie, Benny, Bobby, Sam—they all stared at him expectantly, and the Unassigned in the packed-to-the-brim hall below did the same.

“Yes,” Dean squeezed both of Castiel’s hands and stepped back. “Castiel Novak, you are the Commander of the _Nebesa_ , or have you forgotten? It doesn’t matter if the City said you aren’t worthy of her anymore. We say you are, and we—”

Dean dropped down to one knee, grinning proudly, and attempting his best military salute. Next to him, Sam copied, his obtusely tall frame jerky as he made his way down. Bobby, Charlie, Benny, they all followed.

The Unassigned in the crew hall all followed, dropping to their knees in a respectful wave, silence falling like a ripple through the crowd.

“—we are your crew, Commander. We choose to follow you,” Dean finished, quietly.

Castiel couldn’t speak, for a moment. The air had been sucked out of his lungs, the world on pause between heartbeats.

“So where are you taking us, Sir?” Benny drawled out, loud and grinning.

Slowly, Castiel turned, gripping the balcony railing as he gazed out over the people down below.

Free people, he realized. His crew.

They had made their own choice, and they wanted him to lead. Lead them… where?

A small thrill ran up inside Castiel as he turned, reaching for Dean’s hand, pulling him up to stand beside him, his partner and equal.

“I’m taking us to Earth,” he announced, loud enough for the crew to all hear. “I’m taking us home.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

**~ Two Months Later ~**

 

There was a neat _rat-a-tat-tat_ on the solid office door.

“Commander Novak is busy right now,” chirped Alfie, the skinny-but-keen Unassigned that had somehow been drafted into being Castiel’s assistant.

The door opened regardless, and Dean’s sandy hair poked through the gap, followed by his cheekiest grin. “What about Mr. Winchester, is he busy?”

Pushing his data screen across the desk away from himself, Castiel turned his chair just a fraction so that he could direct his smile at the door. He sat in the Commander’s office, one of his least favorite rooms on the ship, due in no small part to how much it reminded him of Potentate Zachariah’s office. Unfortunately, as things stood, redecoration was quite far down his list of concerns, what with a long journey ahead and an inexperienced crew.

“Come in, Dean,” Alfie sighed quietly to himself, as Dean was already half-way across the plush red carpet to the desk.

“It’s Friday night,” Dean said pointedly, shooting Alfie a look from the corner of his eye. “If I don’t take the time to make sure Cas gets some hours off to relax, who will?”

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel stretched his arms overhead, producing a cringe-worthy cacophony of cracks from his back while his eyes searched out the clock on the wall. It was after nine p.m., ship-time, and he’d been at his desk all afternoon.

He’d been going through the last of the assessments Charlie had helped arrange for the Unassigned, detecting what skills they had and whereabouts on the crew they would be the most useful. He’d spent an hour settling a dispute about who ranked where in their fledgling science division, and a good couple more working with Bobby to develop programs for self-defense training for all the crew; a precursor for military-style training for those who wanted it. He was exhausted, and grumpy, and of course Dean knew that. This was the part of his role, his job, that Castiel hated the most.

Dean moved around behind Castiel’s chair, splaying his hands across the muscles at the back of Castiel’s neck and on down to his deltoids, digging his thumbs in small, firm circles. “Cas,” he chastised gently. “You’re so wound up. Let go for the day, come have a drink with me.”

The Unassigned, Castiel had discovered swiftly, were ingenious people. Within days of the ship leaving the solar system, Benny—Castiel’s new head chef—had reported the sudden, strange disappearance of nearly half of the ship’s supplies of corn and grain. They’d have to allocate more growing space for it, down on the agriculture deck, Benny had calmly told him, straight faced.

Castiel had rolled his eyes and given the order, not even sighing when—just as suddenly—a series of supplies disappeared from the engineering deck a few days later. He suspected Dean and Sam had a lot to do with that one; he didn’t know who else on the ship was smart enough, let alone ballsy enough, to construct a moonshine still on a spacecraft.

But then, Castiel didn’t much care. The Glass City had outlawed alcohol and banned it from ships; he had no cares either way, on his. If the Unassigned wanted to produce it, he’d enjoy it along with everybody else.

Though “enjoy” was really a relative term when it came to the rough, fiery moonshine that the Unassigned made.

Castiel rolled his head back, looking up at Dean as he stood above him. A happy hum escaped from his lips as Dean’ massaged his shoulders. He waved a hand at one of the chairs on the opposite side of his desk. “I’ll come and relax with you, Dean. Will you take a seat first, though? There’s something I want to discuss with you.”

Dean pulled one of the chairs back with a suspicious hum. He reclined, taking a second to gaze out of the window at the endless stars and the void between, before turning fully to Castiel. “Alright Commander, what’s the problem?”

Castiel pulled his data screen across the desk, tapping through a few documents as he spoke. “Dean, I know that you expressed discomfort at the idea of being in charge of the technical, engineering aspects of the ship—” Castiel sensed Dean’s interruption before it happened, holding up a hand to cut him off. “—You are concerned it would be mere favoritism and that people wouldn’t respect you, and I understand that.”

Dean closed his mouth and nodded.

“So, I have taken that under advisement. I went through every aptitude test that every crew member took and ran the top ten candidates through some of the ships AI simulators.” Castiel paused to tilt his screen toward Dean, flicking through sheets of test scores and simulation results. “There is one very clear winner, the crew member whose engineering and mechanical skills far outstrip even the closest competitor. I just wanted you to know that, before I inform him of his position.”

Dean blinked, a relieved nod pulling his chin down to his chest for a moment. “Right. Thank you, Cas. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful or anything, I just think there have to be better—”

Castiel beamed, interrupting Dean slightly gleefully as he fished a gold pin from his desk drawer and pushed it across the table. “Report for duty at 08:00, Mr. Winchester.”

Dean spluttered. “Cas, that—”

“Dean,” Castiel steamrolled smoothly onwards. “I need to make the absolute best I can of this crew on a journey as long as the one we’re making. That includes having people in the positions best suited for them. Just because you don’t have a formal education, doesn’t mean you aren’t just as worthy as other people here.”

Dean was quiet, and Castiel reached across the corner of the desk to grasp at Dean’s wrist, turning his hand to hold it in his own and giving him a small, encouraging smile before he continued.

“Have some confidence in your abilities, Dean. I do.”

“I—” Dean’s eyes dropped, a rare flush lighting his cheeks soft pink. “Thank you. I hope I won’t let you down.”

From the opposite side of the room, behind his smaller desk. Alfie cleared his throat. “Congratulations, Dean. I have some paperwork that—”

Dean shot the small man a pointed look over his shoulder, still clasping Castiel’s hand on the desk.

“—that you can do tomorrow,” Alfie corrected, sighing softly.

Castiel laughed. If anything, Alfie was a little too eager, at times. “That’s enough for today, Alfie. Go and spend some time with your friends, and I’ll let Dean drag me off to test the results of the alcohol distillery I’m not supposed to know about.”

 

**~~***~~**

 

 _Okay, so I was wrong,_ Castiel thought. _This is far more than just a distillery._

He’d stopped briefly by the Commander’s quarters that he’d been sharing with Dean for the past two months, to change into a clean shirt. He’d thought that Dean would be eager to spend some time together in their rooms—he’d certainly never objected before—but Dean was determined that he had something exciting to show him.

They had descended in the glass elevators deep into the belly of the ship. There was a lot of storage on the _Nebesa_ ; the original plans had showed the spaces reserved for military tech and weaponry, none of which they had, nor had any interest in obtaining. The empty spaces had been useful though, and they had used them for rough housing for the excess crew, which numbered far beyond the ship’s capacity once the second shuttle of Unassigned had been counted.

Castiel had let the Unassigned have free reign down here; they were just empty rooms after all, he had other things to worry about at present. He walked hand in hand with Dean as they passed makeshift dormitories and workshops, many of the empty spaces now being put to use.

Now they were nearing the back of the ship, and Castiel could hear music.

He grinned across at Dean. “I thought that the Unassigned had a moonshine still down here, and I overlooked it because I didn’t particularly care—but it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

Dean gave him a cocky smirk. “Why do things by halves? We had to find some kind of business to keep Crowley out of trouble, you know.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow, skeptical that such a thing was possible, given everything he’d heard about the man.

A wave of scent hit Castiel as Dean pushed open the vibrating door to one of the larger storerooms, meant for military vehicles and land assault machinery; things the _Nebesa_ would never need. It was a distantly familiar smell of moonshine, heat, sweat and smoke. Somehow, it managed to be almost enticing, not wholly revolting.

Within the dim space of storage room 14A, deep, sultry beats filled the air. A makeshift bar ran along one wall, and Castiel caught a glimpse of Meg’s blonde head thrown back in laughter behind it, serving glasses of moonshine to patrons. The half of the room closest to the door had been dedicated to seating, with benches along the walls under the utility pipework and mismatched tables and chairs in small, intimate groups. The far side was a riot of pulsing lights beneath a makeshift stage, where Castiel recognized Ash, shirtless, his mullet bent low in concentration over a series of data screens that projected the music across the improvised dancefloor.

“Wow.” Castiel blinked, then grinned. “You’ve all been very busy in your spare time.”

“Crowley and Meg mostly, with a few of us helping out and keeping an eye on them,” Dean explained. “It’s good to have somewhere for the crew to let off steam, though. Helps keep things running smooth upstairs.”

“I agree, and I approve, as long as the officers are welcome, too.”

Dean nudged his shoulder with a wink. “Like I’d let anyone keep you out, lover.” Raising his hand, Dean pointed to one of the long, red leatherette benches that lined the side of the room. “Look, Sam’s here. Why don’t you go catch up while I get us a drink?”

Castiel nodded, making his way over. The seat Sam was spread on looked familiar, and Castiel made a conscious decision not to question which floor of the ship Crowley and Meg had stolen it from.

He hadn’t seen much of Sam in the past couple of months. He’d simply been too busy—the _Nebesa_ was a massive ship, needing a lot of Commanding. The only reason he saw Dean was because they shared a bed each night, and because Dean regularly traumatized Alfie by inserting himself into Castiel’s office unannounced; like a moth seeking light, Dean would keep ramming into the glass door, whether it was closed or not. It wasn’t that he didn’t respect Alfie’s rules. He just didn’t see how they applied to him. Sam was less likely to forcibly insert himself into Castiel’s life, and as a side effect, things were occasionally still a little strained between them.

Sam lay horizontally on the bench, his hair haloed across the red leatherette seat while his feet rested on the wall. He hummed, stamping out the beat of the music that Ash played with one heavy boot against the metal pipes. There was a tiny smile pulling the corner of his face.

“Hey,” Castiel said, lowering himself down next to Sam’s head. It was an odd position, looking down at Sam’s sideways face. “How are you doing?”

There was no answer for a moment, and so Castiel averted his eyes, focusing on the too-clean table in front of him. Everything on the ship seemed new; this storeroom wasn’t the Roadhouse, it never would be, but he found himself hoping that one day it could feel the same.

“Some days good, some days bad,” Sam said suddenly, stopping his strange percussion on the pipes and popping upright. “I still owe you an apology.”

Castiel blinked; perhaps alcohol had something to do with it, but it was the most direct Sam had been with him in weeks. “No, Sam, you don’t.”

“I do. I’ve avoided you because it hurts, but it’s unfair. I owe you a heartfelt apology. I miss Eileen, Cas. I always will. She was my wife and my best friend. But it’s not your fault she died, and the fact that I said that makes me a total asshole.”

Castiel looked down, staring at his knees for a long moment. “Thank you, Sam. I said that you didn’t owe me an apology, but I’ll admit that does lift a burden. We lost so many people, and I carry the weight of all of that with me every day. Thinking that you blamed me, on top of that—”

“No,” Sam interrupted firmly. “I don’t. I was just upset and lashing out. I was a jerk.”

Sam brought his arms up, and Castiel smiled as they embraced tightly.

“What’s this?” Dean said, dropping down next to Castiel with a handful of moonshine shots balanced on a small tray. “Let go of my boyfriend, Sammy. I know I haven’t officially put a ring on it, but I’m just not into that kind of sharing.”

Sam smirked. “Good thing, too. He’d prefer me, given half the chance.”

“Rude!” Dean exclaimed. “Cas, you tell him!”

Castiel grinned menacingly, reaching for one of the moonshine shots. “I don’t know, Dean—" Castiel threw the shot back quickly, “—Sam is taller.”

The spluttering noise that Dean made was well worth the glare that followed.

Sam cackled, grabbing a shot for himself as Dean grimaced. “Go dance or something, you two, or at least go be sickeningly married somewhere else. Otherwise I’m going to have to find Charlie, so we can swear off love together.”

Dean reached past Castiel to give his brother a firm squeeze on the shoulder. “As long as you’re okay. If you’re not ready to be out socializing, then we can—”

“Really, I’m fine. Stop waiting for me to fall apart, Dean,” Sam grumbled. “It’s exhausting.”

Although he didn’t look totally satisfied, Dean let it go and turned to Cas. “Want to dance with me, Cas? It’s been a while since we were at the Roadhouse.”

“It has,” Cas agreed, pushing up from the bench and extending a hand down to Dean. “Come on then. If you’re lucky, you might even get to take me home this time.”

“If I’m lucky?”

“Depends who else asks.”

“Cas!”

Castiel smirked to himself as Dean pouted his way through the gathering bodies and onto the dancefloor. It was getting later, and more people were arriving, the dancefloor now a loud crush of color and skin. Teasing done, it only took them seconds to melt into each other, the thrumming beats that Ash played working their way into their bodies.

Dean always seemed so proud to be seen with Castiel, and on the dancefloor was no exception; he wrapped his arms around him possessively, a wide, adoring grin across his face, pulling them tight together, hiding nothing.

Vibrations of melody and bass worked their way through Castiel’s bones and up into his lungs, the ambiance stealing his breath and filling his chest with throbbing sound instead.

Castiel felt a small bubble of pride beneath his sternum as he realized how much his confidence had grown since the last time Dean had him in this position. How much of a different person he was. They both were. And yet, the same. Everything was just the same; Dean’s hands on his waist, weighty, thumbs teasing beneath the edge of the fabric to rest at Castiel’s hip bones, and his thighs and chest tight against him, the throb of the bass swelling their joined ribcages from within.

Pushing aside his thoughts, Castiel smiled, feeling Dean’s arms tighten around his waist. Grinding their hips together, Castiel arched his spine and dipped back, fully confident that Dean would have his weight while he got lost in the beat, letting it soothe every sorrow and stress that had preoccupied him. Dean brought him slowly back up, his heated smile obvious even through the dim light as he spun Castiel around.

The feel of Dean behind him was now so familiar that Castiel merely closed his eyes and hummed, basking in it.

“Let’s get out of here,” Dean said, his voice low and suggestive. Castiel could feel Dean’s lips against his skin as he used his tongue to chase a bead of sweat down the back of Castiel’s neck. “Please?”

Castiel really didn’t need any more persuading than that, slipping his hand into Dean’s and allowing himself to be pulled away through the crowd. They passed Benny and Andrea on the dance floor, receiving wide grins and winks from them both. Sam merely rolled his eyes as they practically ran past, and Charlie gave them a coy little wave from where they passed her chatting flirtatiously with an older, red headed woman.

A wave of cool air hit Castiel as the door of storage room 14A closed behind them, dulling the melodic thumps of Ash’s music.

Dean and Castiel remained hand in hand as they hurried back to their shared room, exchanging grins and stolen kisses around corners—for a moment it seemed like they wouldn’t even make it out of the elevator, but Castiel finally had enough sense to tug Dean out and along the last corridor to the Commander’s quarters.

Their wide, familiar bed awaited them. They tumbled onto it together and took their time taking each other apart, late into the night, happy and free.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is all she wrote for this 'verse!
> 
> What did you think, folks? I would love to hear from you about this world and version of the characters that I created here... I love to chat with readers and I try my best to always keep on top of replying to comments, so please let me know what your favorite scene was, and who your favorite characters in this fic were!
> 
> Thank you so much for taking the time to read. 
> 
> You can find me over on tumblr as MalMuses, as well as lurking on discord, twitter, and numerous other platforms.
> 
> I have one more fic left in my posting spree! "Giant, Anguish, Danger" (canon case fic Destiel) and "Ready Player Two" (nerdy two person love triangle) already posted, and coming up next week I have "Love Bites" for Dean Cas Mini Bang! Then... It's back to those WIPs. Hope to see you there!
> 
> \- Mal <3


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